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The New York Fashion Bazar. 

THE BEST LADIES’ MAGAZINE. 


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t 


ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON'S WORKS 

CONTAINED IN THE SEASIDE LIBRARY (POCKET EDITION): 


NO. 

686 Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll 
and Mr. Hyde. 

704 Prince Otto. 

832 Kidnapped. 

855 The Dynamiter. By Rob- 

ert Louis Stevenson and 
Fanny Van de Grift Ste- 
venson. 

856 New Arabian Nights. 


NO. 

888 Treasure Island. 

889 An Inland Voyage. 

940 The Merry Men, and Other 
- Tales and Fables. 

1051 The Misadventures of John 
Nicholson. 

1110 The Silverado Squatters. 
1228 The Master of Ballantrae. 
A Winter’s Tale. 


TO 

SIR PERCY FLORENCE AND LADY SHELLEY. 


Here is a tale which extends over many years and travels 
into many countries. By a peculiar fitness of circumstance 
the writer began, continued it, and concluded it among dis- 
tant and diverse scenes. Above all, he was much upon the 
sea. The character and fortune of the -fraternal enemies, the 
hall and shrubbery of Durrisdeer, the problem of Mackellar's 
homespun and how to shape it for superior flights; these were 
his company on deck in many star-reflecting harbors, ran 
often in his mind at sea to the tune of slatting canvas, and 
were dismissed (something of the suddenest) on the approach 
of squalls. It is my hope that these surroundings of its man- 
ufacture may to some degree find favor for my story with sea- 
farers and sea-lovers like yourselves. 

And at least here is a dedication from a great way off; 
written by the loud shores of a subtropical island near upon 
ten thousand miles from Boscombe Chine and Manor; scenes 
which rise before me as I write, along with the faces and 
voices of my friends. 

Well, I am for the sea once more; no doubt Sir Percy also. 
Let us make the signal B. R. D. ! 


Waikiki, May 17 , 1889 . 


R. L. S. 



THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


SUMMARY OF EVENTS DURING THE MASTER'S 
WANDERINGS. 

The full truth of this odd matter is what the world has long 
been looking for and public curiosity is sure to welcome. It 
so befell that I was intimately mingled with the last years and 
history of the house; and there does not live one man so able 
as myself to make these matters plain, or so desirous to nar- 
rate them faithfully. I knew the master; on many secret 
steps of his career, I have an authentic memoir in my hand ; I 
sailed with him on his last voyage almost alone; I made one 
upon that winter’s journey of which so many tales have gone 
abroad ; and I was there at the man’s death. As for my late 
Lord Durrisdeer, 1 served him and loved him near twenty 
years; and thought more of him the more I knew of him. 
Altogether, I think it not fit that so much evidence should 
perish; the truth is a debt I owe my lord’s. memory; and 1 
think my old years will flow more smoothly and my white hair 
lie quieter on the pillow, when the debt is paid. 

The Duries of Durrisdeer and Ballantrae were a strong 
family in the south-west from the days of David First. A 
rhyme still current in the country-side : 

Kittle folk are the Durrisdeers, 

They ride wi’ ower mony spears — 

bears the mark of its antiquity; and the name appears in an- 
other, which common report attributes to Thomas of Ercil- 
doune himself — I can not say how truly, and which some have 
applied — I dare not say with how much justice — to the events 
of this narration: 

Twa Duries in Durrisdeer, 

Ane to tie and ane to ride, 

An ill day for the groom 

And a waur day for the bride. 

\ thentic history besides is filled with their exploits which (to 
modern eyes) seem not very commendable; and the family 


8 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


suffered its full share of those ups and downs to which the 

f reat houses of Scotland have been ever liable. But all these 
pass over, to come to that memorable year 1745, when the 
foundations of this tragedy were laid. 

At that time there dwelt a family of four persons in the 
house of Durris^eer, near St. Bride’s, on the Solway shore; a 
chief hold of their race since the Reformation. My old lord, 
eighth of the name, was not old in years, but he suffered pre- 
maturely from the disabilities of age; his place was at the chim- 
ney-side; there he sat reading, in a lined gown, with few words 
for any man, and wry words for none; the model of an old re- 
tired housekeeper; and yet his mind very well nourished with 
study, and reputed in the country to be more cunning than he 
seemed. The Master of Ballantrae, James in baptism, took 
from his father the love of serious reading; some of his tact 
perhaps as well, but that which was only policy in the father 
became black dissimulation in the son. The face of his be- 
havior was merely popular and wild: he sat late at wine, later 
at the cards; had tlie name in the country of “an unco man for 
the lasses;” and was ever in the front of broils. But for all 
he was the first to go in, yet it was observed he was invariably 
the best to come off; and his partners in mischief were usually 
alone to pay the piper. This luck or dexterity got him several 
ill-wishers, but with the rest of the country enhanced his repu- 
tation; so that great things were looked for in his future, when 
he should have gained more gravity. One very black mark he 
had to his name; but the matter was hushed up at the time, 
and so defaced by legends before I came into those parts, that 
1 scruple to set it down. If it was true, it was a horrid fact 
in one so young; and if false, it was a horrid calumny. I 
think it notable that he had always vaunted himself quite im- 
placable, and was taken at his word; so that he had the ad- 
dition among his neighbors of “an ill man to cross.” Here 
was altogether a young nobleman (not yet twenty-four in the 
year ’45) who had made a figure in the country beyond his 
time of life. The less marvel if there were little heard of the 
second son, Mr. Henry (my late Lord Durrisdeer), who was 
neither very bad nor yet very able, but an honest, solid sort of 
lad like many of his neighbors. Little heard, I say ; but in- 
deed it was a case of little spoken. He was known among the 
salmon-fishers in the firth, for that was a sport that he assidu- 
ously followed; he was an excellent good horse-doctor besides; 
and took a chief hand, almost from a boy, in the manageme 
of the estates. How hard a part that was, in the situation - 
that family, none knows better than myself; nor yet with hov 


THE MASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 


9 


little color of justice a man may there acquire the reputation 
of a tyrant and a miser. The "fourth person in the house was 
Miss Alison Graeme, a near kinswoman, an orphan, and the' 
heir to a considerable fortune which her father had acquired 
in trade. This money was loudly called for by my lord's 
necessities; indeed the land was deeply mortgaged; and Miss 
Alison was designed accordingly to be the master's wife, gladly 
enough on her side; with how much good will on his, is an- 
other matter. She was a comely girl and in those days very 
spirited and self-willed; for the old lord having no daughter of 
his own, and my lady being long dead, she had grown up as 
best she might. 

To these four came the news of Prince Charlie's landing, 
and set them presently by the ears. My lord, like the chim- 
ney-keeper that he was, was all for temporizing. Miss Alison 
held the other side, because it appeared romantical; and the 
master (though 1 have heard they did not agree often) was for 
this once of her opinion. The adventure tempted him, as I 
conceive; he was tempted by the opportunity to raise the fort- 
unes of the house, and not less by the hope of paying off his 
private liabilities, which were heavy beyond all opinion. As 
for Mr. Henry, it appears he said little enough at first; his 
part came later on. It took the three a whole day's disputa- 
tion, before they agreed to steer a middle course, one son go- 
ing forth to strike a blow for King James, my lord and the 
other staying at home to keep in favor with King George. 
Doubtless this was my lord's decision; and as is well known, it 
was the part played by many considerable families. But the 
one dispute settled, another opened. For my lord. Miss Alison 
and Mr. Henry all held the one view: that it was the cadet's 
part to go out; and the master, what with restlessness and 
vanity, would at no rate consent to stay at home. My lord 
pleaded. Miss Alison wept, Mr. Henry was very plain spoken; 
all was of no avail. 

“It is the direct heir of Durrisdeer that should ride by his 
king's bridle," says the master. 

“If we were playing a manly part," says Mr. Henry, 
“ there might be sense in such talk. But what are we doing? 
Cheating at cards!" 

“ We are saving the house of Durrisdeer, Henry," his fa- 
ther said. 

“And see, James," said Mr. Henry, “if I go, and the 
prince has the upper hand, it will be easy to make your peace 
with King James. But if you go, and the expedition fails, we 
divide the right and the title. And what shall I be then?" 


10 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


“You will be Lord Durrisdeer,” said the master. “ I put 
all I have upon the table. ” 

“ 1 play at no such game/* cries Mr. Henry. “ I shall be 
left in such a situation as no man of sense and honor could 
endure. I shall be neither fish nor flesh !” he cried. And a 
little after, he had another expression, plainer perhaps than 
he intended. “It is your duty to be here with my .father,” 
said he. “ You know well enough you are the favorite. ’■ ’ 

“ Ay?” said the master. “ And there spoke Envy! Would 
you trip up my heels — Jacob?” said he, and dwelled upon the 
name maliciously. 

Mr. Henry went and walked at the low end of the hall with- 
out reply; for he had an excellent gift of silence. Presently 
he came back. 

“I am the cadet and I should go,” said he. “ And my 
lord here is the master, and he says I shall go. What say ye 
to that, my brother?” 

“ 1 say this, Harry,” returned the master, “ that when very 
obstinate folk are met, there are only two ways out: Blows — 
and I think none of us could care to go so far; or the arbitra- 
ment of chancS — and here is a guinea piece. Will you stand 
by the toss of the coin?” 

“ I will stand and fall by it,” said Mr. Henry. “ Heads, 
I go; shield, I stay.” 

The coin was spun and it fell shield. “ So there is a lesson 
for Jacob,” says the master. 

“ We shall live to repent of this,” says Mr. Henry, and 
flung out of the hall. 

As for Miss Alison, she caught up that piece of gold which 
had just sent her lover to the wars, and flung it clean through 
the family shield in the great painted window. 

“ If you loved me as well as I love you, you would have 
stayed,” cried she. 

“ 4 1 could not love you, dear, so well, loved 1 not honor 
more/ ” sung the master. 

“Oh!” she cried, “ you have no heart — I hope you may be 
killed!” and she ran from the room, and in tears to her own 
chamber. 

It seems the master turned to my lord with his most comical 
manner, and says he, “ This looks like a devil of a wife.” 

“ 1 think you are a devil of a son to me,” cried his father, 
“ you that has always been the favorite, to my shame be it 
spoken. Never a good hour have 1 gotten of you since you 
were born; no, never one good hour,” and repeated it again 
the third time. Whether it was the master’s levity, or his in- 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


11 


subordination, or Mr. Henry's word about the favorite son, 
that had so much disturbed my lord, I do not know; but I in- 
cline to think it was the last, for I have it by all accounts that 
Mr. Henry was more made up to from that hour. 

Altogether it was in pretty ill blood with his family that the 
master rode to the north; which was the more sorrowful for 
others to remember when it seemed too late. By fear and 
favor, he had scraped together near upon a dozen men, prin- 
cipally tenants' sons; they were all pretty full when they set 
forth, and rode up the hill by the old abbey, roaring and sing- 
ing, the white cockade in every hat. It was a desperate vent- 
ure for so small a company to cross the most of Scotland un- 
supported; and (what made folk think so the more) even as 
that poor dozen was clattering up the hill, a great ship of the 
king's navy, that could have brought them under with a single 
boat, lay with her broad ensign streaming in the bay. The 
next afternoon, having given the master a fair start, it was 
Mr. Henry’s turn; and he rode off, all by himself, to offer his 
sword and carry letters from his father to King George's gov- 
ernment. Miss Alison was shut in her room and did little 
but weep, till both were gone; only she stitched the cockade 
upon the master's hat and (as John Paul told me) it was 
wetted with tears when he carried it down to him. 

In all that followed, Mr. Henry and my old lord were true 
to their bargain. That ever they accomplished anything is 
more than 1 could learn; and that they were any way strong 
on the king's side, more than I believe. But they kept the * 
letter of loyalty, corresponded with my lord president, sat still 
at home, and had little or no commerce with thS master while 
that business lasted. Nor was he, on his side, more communi- 
cative. Miss Alison, indeed, was always sending him ex- 
presses, but 1 do not know if she had many answers. Mac- 
conochie rode for her once, and found the Highlanders before 
Carlisle, and the master riding by the prince's side in high 
favor; he took the letter (so Maeconochie tells), opened it, 
glanced it through with a mouth like a man whistling, and 
stuck it in his belt, whence, on his horse passageing, it fell un- 
regarded to the ground. It was Maeconochie who picked it up; 
and he still kept it, and indeed I have seen it in his hands. 
News came to Durrisdeer of course, by the common report, as 
it goes traveling through a country, a thing always wonderful 
to me. By that means the family learned more of the mas- 
ter's favor with the prince, and the ground it was said to stand 
on; for by a strange condescension in a man so proud — only 
that he was a man still more ambitious — he was said to have 


12 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

crept into notability by truckling to the Irish. Sir Thomas 
Sullivan, Colonel Burke, and the rest were his daily comrades, 
by which course he withdrew himself from his own country 
folk. All the small intrigues he had a hand in fomenting; 
thwarted my Lord George upon a thousand points; was always 
for the advice that seemed palatable to the prince, no matter 
if it was good or bad; and seems upon the whole (like the 
gambler he was all through life) to have had less regard to the 
chances of' the campaign than to the greatness of favor he 
might aspire to, if (by any luck) it should succeed. For the 
rest, he did very well in the field; no one questioned that; for 
he was no coward. 

The next was the news of Cuffoden, which was brought to 
Durrisdeer by one of the tenants* sons, the only survivor, he 
declared, of all those that had gone singing up the hill. By 
an unfortunate chance, John Paul and Macconochie had that 
very morning found the guinea piece (which was the root of 
all the evil) sticking in a holly bush; they had been 44 up the 
gait,” as the servants say at Du-rrisdeer, to the change-house; 
and if they, had little left of the guinea, they had less of their 
wits. What must John Paul do but burst into the hall where 
the family sat at dinner, and cry the news to them that 44 Tam 
Macmorland was but new lichtit at the door, and — wirra, 
wirra — there were nane to come behind him?** 

They took the word in silence like folk condemned; only 
Mr. Henry carrying his palm to his face, and Miss Alison lay- 
ing her head outright upon her hands. As for my lord, he 
was like ashes* 

44 1 have still one son,” says he. 44 And, Henry, I will do 
you this justice, it is the kinder that is left. ** 

It was a strange thing to say in such a moment; but my 
lord had never forgotten Mr. Henry *s speech, and he had 
years of injustice on his conscience. Still it was a strange 
thing; and more than Miss Alison could let pass. She broke 
out and blamed my lord for his unnatural words, and Mr. 
Henry because he was sitting thdre in safety when his brother 
lay dead, and herself because she had given her sweetheart ill 
words at his departure; calling him the flower of the flock, 
wringing her hands, protesting her love, and crying on him 
by his name; so that the servants stood astonished. 

Mr. Henry got to his feet and stood holding his chair; it 
was he that was like ashes now. 

“ Oh,** he burst out, suddenly, 44 1 know youloved him!** 

44 The world knows that, glory be to God!** cries she; and 


THE MASTER OF BALLAFTTRAE. 


13 


then to Mr. Henry: 44 There is none but me to know one thing 
— that you were a traitor to him in your heart. ” 

44 God knows,” groans he, 44 it was lost love on both sides. ” 

Time went by in the house after that without much change; 
only they were now three instead of four, which was a perpetual 
reminder of their loss. Miss Alison’s modey, you are to bear 
in mind, was highly needful for the estates; and the one 
brother being dead, my old lord soon set his heart upon her 
marrying the other. Day in, day out, he would work upon 
her, sitting by the chimney-side with his finger in his Latin 
book, and his eyes set upon her face with a kind of pleasant 
intentness that became the old gentleman very well. If she 
wept, he would condole with her, like an ancient man that has 
seen worse times and begins to think • lightly even of sorrow; 
if she raged, he would fall to reading again in his Latin book, 
but alwaj^s with some civil excuse; if she offered (as she often 
did) to let them have her money in a gift, he would show her 
how little it consisted with his honor, and remind her, even if 
he should consent, that Mr. Henry would certainly refuse. 
Non vi sed scepe cadendo was a favorite word of his; and no 
doubt this quiet persecution wore away much of her resolve; 
no doubt, besides, he had a great influence on the girl, having 
stood in the place of both her parents; and for that matter, 
she was herself filled with the spirit of the Duries, and would 
have gone a. great w*ay for the glory of Durrisdeer; but not so 
far, I think, as to marry my poor patron, had it not been 
(strangely enough) for the circumstance of his extreme un- 
pop uiarity. 

This was the work of Tam Macmorland. There was not 
much harm in Tam; but he had that grievous weakness, a 
long tongue; and as the okdy man in that country who had 
been out (or rather who had come in again) he was sure of 
listeners. Those that have the underhand in any fighting, 1 
have observed, are ever anxious to persuade themselves they 
were betrayed. By Tam’s account of it, the rebels had been 
betrayed at every turn and by every officer they had; they had 
been betrayed at Derby, and betrayed at Falkirk; the. night 
march was a step of treachery of my Lord George’s; and Cul- 
loden was lost by the treachery of the Macdonalds. This habit 
of imputing treason grew upon the fool, till at last he must 
have in Mr. Henry also. Mr. Henry (by his account) had be- 
trayed the lads of Durrisdeer; he had promised to follow with 
more men, and instead of that he had ridden to King George. 
44 Ay, and the next day!” Tam would cry. 44 The puir, bon- 
nie master and the puir, kind lads that rade wi’ him, were 


14 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

hardly ower the scaur, or he was alt the Judis! Ay, weel-— 
he has his way o’t: he’s to be my lord, nae less, and there s 
mony a cauld corp amang the Hieland heather. And a 
this, if Tam had been drinking, he would begin to weep. 

Let any one speak long enough he will get believers. Inis 
view of Mr. Henry’s behavior crept about the country by little 
and little; it was talked upon by folk that knew the contrary 
but were short of topics; and it was heard and believed and 
given out for gospel by the ignorant and the ill- willing. Mi . 
Henry began to be shunned; yet awhile, and the commons 
began to murmur as he went by, and the women (who are 
always the most bold because they are the most safe) to cry 
out their reproaches to his face. The master was cried up for 
a saint. It was remembered how he had never had any hand 
in pressing the tenants; as, indeed, no more he had, except 
to spend the money. He was a little wild perhaps, the folk 
said; but how much better was a natural, wild lad that would 
soon have settled down, than a skinflint and a sneckdraw, 
sitting, with his nose in an account book, to persecute poor 
tenants. One trollop, who had had a child to the master and 
by all accounts been very badly used, yet made herself a kind 
of champion of his memory. S^e flung a stone one day at 
Mr. Henry. 

“ Wbaur’s the bonnie lad that trustit ye?” she cried. 

Mr. Henry reined in his horse and looked upon her, the 
blood flowing from his lip. Ay, Jess?” says he. “You 
too? And yet ye should ken me better.” For it was he who 
had helped her with money. 

The woman had another stone ready, which she made as if 
she would cast; and he, .to ward himself, threw up the hand 
that held his riding rod. 

“ What, would ye beat a lassie, ye ugly — ?” cries she, and 
ran away screaming as though he had struck her. 

Hext day, word went about the country like wildfire that 
Mr. Henry had beaten Jessie Broun within an inch of her life. 
I give it as one instance of how this snowball grew and one 
calumny brought another; until my poor patron was so per- 
ished in reputation that he began to keep the house like my 
lord. All this while, you may be sure he uttered no com- 
plaints at home; the very ground of the scandal was too sore 
a matter to be handled; and Mr. Henry was very proud and 
strangely obstinate in silence. My old lord must have heard 
of it, by John Paul, if by no one else; and he must at least 
have remarked the altered habits of his son. Yet ,even he, it 
is probable, knew not how high the feeling ran; gnd as for 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 15 

Miss Alison, she was ever the last person to hear news, and 
the least interested when she heard them. 

In the height of the ill-feeling (for it died away as it came, 
no man could say why) there was an election forward in the 
town of St. Bride's, which is the next to Durrisdeer, standing 
on the Water of Swift; some grievance was fermenting, I for- 
get what, if ever I heard; and it was currently said there 
would be broken heads ere night, and that the sheriff had sent 
as far as Dumfries for soldiers. My lord moved that Mr. 
Henry should be present; assuring him it was necessary to ap- 
pear, for the credit of the house. “ It will soon be reported," 
said he, “ that we do not take the lead in our own country." 

“ It is a strange lead that I can take," said Mr. Henry; 
and when they had pushed him further, “ I tell you the plain 
truth," he said, “ 1 dare not show my face." 

“You are the first of the house that ever said so," cries 
Miss Alison. 

“We will go all three," said my lord; and sure enough he 
got into his boots (the first time in four years — a sore business 
John Paul had to get them on) and Miss Alison into her rid- 
ing-coat, and all three rode together to St. Bride's. 

The streets were full of the riff-raff of all the country-side, 
who had no sooner clapped eyes on Mr. Henry than the hiss- 
ing began, and the hooting, and the cries of “Judas!" and 
“ Where was the master?" and “ Where were the poor lads 
that rode with him?" Even a stone was cast; but the more 
part cried shame at that, for my old lord's sake and Miss Ali- 
son's. It took not ten minutes to persuade my lQrd that Mr. 
Henry had been right. He said never a word, but turned his 
horse about, and home again, with his chin upon his bosom. 
Never a word said Miss Alison; no doubt she thought the 
more; no doubt her pride was stung, for she was a bone-bred 
Durie; and no doubt her heart was touched to see her cousin 
so unjustly used. That night she was never in bed; I have 
often blamed my lady — when I call to mind that night, I 
readily forgive her all; and the first thing in the morning, she 
came to the old lord in his usual seat. 

“ If Henry still wants me," said she, V he can have me 
now." To himself she had a different Speech: “ I bring you 
no love, Henry; but God knows, all the pity in the world." 

June the first, 1748, was the day of their marriage. It was 
•December of the same year that first saw me alighting at the 
doors of the great house; and from there 1 take up the history 
of events as they befell under my own observation, like a wit- 
ness in a court. 


16 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

I made the last of my journey in the cold end of December, 
in a mighty dry day of frost;. and who should be my guide but 
Patey Macmorland, brother of Tam! For a tow -headed, 
bare-legged brat of ten, he had more ill tales upon his tongue 
than ever I heard the match of; having drunken betimes in 
his brothers icup. I was still not sc old myself; pride had 
not yet the upper hand of curiosity; and indeed it would have 
taken any man, that cold morning, to hear all the old clashes 
of the country and be shown all the places by the way where 
strange things Had fallen out. 1 had tales of Claverhouse as 
we came through the bogs, and tales of the devil as we came 
over the top of the scaur. As we came in by the abbey 1 
heard somewhat of the old monks, and more of the free- 
traders, who use its ruins for a magazine, landing for that 
cause within a cannon-shot of Durrisdeer; and along all the 
road, the Dunes and poor Mr. Henry were in the first rank of 
slander. My mind was thus highly prejudiced against , the 
family I was about to serve: so that I was half surprised 
when I beheld Durrisdeer itself, lying in a pretty, sheltered 
bay, under the Abbey Hill; the house most commodiously 
built in the French fashion or perhaps Italianate, for 1 have 
no skill in these arts; and the place the most beautified with 
gardens, lawns, shrubberies, and trees I had ever seen. The 
money suuk here un productively would have quite restored the 
family; but as it was, it cost a revenue to keep it up. 

Mr. Henry came himself to the door to welcome me: a tall, 
dark young gentleman (the Duries are all black men) of a 
plain and not cheerful face, very strong in body but not so 
strong in he'alth: taking me by the hand without any pride, 
and putting me at home with plain, kind speeches. He led 
ine into the hall, booted as I was, to present me to my lord. 
It was still daylight; and the first thing I observed was a 
lozenge of clear glass in the midst of the shield in the painted 
window, which I remember thinking a blemish on a room 
otherwise so handsome, with its family portraits, and the 
pargetted ceiling with pendants, and the carved chimney, in 
one corner of which my old lord sat reading in his Livy. He 
was like Mr.. Henry, with much the same plain countenance, 
only more subtle and pleasant, and his talk a thousand times 
more entertaining. He had many questions to ask me, I re- 
member, of Edinburgh College, where I had just received my 
mastership of arts, and of the various professors, with whom 
and their proficiency he seemed well acquainted; and thus, 
talking of things that I knew, I soon got liberty of speech in 
my new home. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


17 


In the midst of this, came Mrs. Henry into the room; she 
was very far gone. Miss Katharine being due in about six 
weeks, which made me think less of her beauty at the first 
sight; and she used me with more of condescension than the 
rest; so that, upon all accounts, I kept her in the third place 
of my esteem. 

It did not take long before all Pate Macmorland’s tales were 
blotted out of my belief, and I was become, what I have ever 
since remained, a loving servant of the house of Durrisdeer. 
Mr. Henry had the chief part of my affection. It was with 
him I worked; and I found him an exacting master, keeping 
all his kindness for those hours in which we were unemployed, 
and in the steward’s office not only loading me with work but 
viewing me with a shrewd supervision. At length one day 
he looked up from his paper with a kind of timidness, and says 
he, 44 Mr. Mackellar, I think I ought to. tell you that you do 
very well.” That was my first word of commendation; and 
from that day his jealousy of my performance was relaxed; 
soon it was 44 Mr. Mackellar” here, and 44 Mr. Mackellar” 
there, with the whole family; and for much of my service at 
Durrisdeer, I have transacted everything at my own time and 
to my own fancy, and never a farthing challenged. Even 
while he was driving me, 1 had begun *to find my heart go out 
to Mr. Henry; no doubt partly in pity, he was a man so 
palpably unhappy. He would fall into a deep muse over our 
accounts, staring at the page or out of the window; and at 
those times the look of his face, and the sigh that would break 
from him, awoke in me strong feelings of curiosity and com- 
miseration. One day, I remember, we were late upon some 
business in the steward’s room. This room is in the top of 
the house and has a view upon the bay, and over a little . 
wooded cape, on. the long sands; and there, right over against 
the sun which was then dipping, we saw the free-traders with 
a great force of men and horses scouring on the beach. Mr. 
Henry had been staring straight west, so that 1 marveled he 
was not blinded by the sun; suddenly he frowns, rubs his hancL 
upon his brow, and turns to me with a smile. 

44 You would not guess what I was thinking,” says he. 44 I 
was thinking I would be a happier man if I could ride and run 
the danger of my life with these lawless companions. ” 

I told him I had observed he did not enjoy good spirits; and 
that it was a common fancy to envy others and think we 
should be the better of some change; quoting Horace to the 
point, like a young man fresh from college. 


18 


THE MASTER OF BALLAtfTRAE. 


“ Why, just so," said he. “ And with that we may get 
back to our accounts." 

It was not long before I began to get wind of the causes 
that so much depressed him. Indeed a blind man must have 
soon discovered there was a shadow on that house, the shadow 
of the Master of Ballantrae. Dead or alive (and he was then 
supposed to be dead) that man was his brother’s rival: his 
rival abroad, where there was never a good word for Mr. 
Henry and nothing but regret and praise for the master; and 
his rival at home, not only with his father and his wife, but 
with the very servants. 

They were two old serving-men, that were the leaders. 
John Paul, a little, bald, solemn, stomachy man, a great pro- 
fessor of piety and (take him for all in all) a pretty faithful 
servant, was the chief of the master’s faction. None durst go 
so far as John. He took a pleasure in disregarding Mr. Henry 
publicly, often with a slighting comparison. My lord and 
Mrs. Henry took him up, to be sure, but never so resolutely 
as they should; and he had only to pull his weeping face and 
begin his lamentations for the master — “ his laddie," as he 
called him — to have the whole condoned. As for Henry, he 
let these things pass in silence, sometimes with a sad and 
sometimes with a black look. There was no rivaling the dead, 
he knew that; and how to censure an old serving-man for a 
fault of loyalty was more than he could see. His was not the 
tongue to do it. 

Macconochie was chief upon the other side; an old, ill- 
spoken, swearing, ranting, drunken dog; and I have often 
thought it an odd circumstance in human nature that these 
two serving-men should each have been the champion of his 
contrary, and blackened their own faults and made light of 
‘their own virtues when they beheld them in a master. Mac- 
conochie had soon smelled out my secret inclination, took me 
much into his confidence, and would rant against the master 
by the hour, so that even my work suffered. “ ’They’re a’ 
daft here," he would cry, “ and be damned to them! The 
master — the deil’s in their thrapples that should call him sae! 
it’s Mr. Henry should be master now! They were nane sae 
fond o’ the master when they had him. I’ll can tell ve . that. 
Sorrow on his name! Never a guid word did I hear on his 
lips, nor naebody else, but just fleering and flvting and pro- 
fane cursing — deil ha’e him! There’s nane kent his wicked- 
ness: him a gentleman! Did ever ye hear tell, Mr. Mackellar, 
o’ Wully White the wabster? No? Aweel, Wully was an 
unco praying kind o’ man; a driegh body, nane o’ my kind, 1 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 19 

n6ver could abide the sight o' him; onvway he was a great 
hand by his way of it, and he' up and rebukit the master for 
some of his on-goings. It was a grand thing for the Master o’ 
BalFntrae to tak up a feud wi' a* wabster, was-nae't?" Mac- 
conochie would sneer; indeed he never took the full name 
upon his lips but with a sort of a whine of hatred. “ But he 
did! A fine employ it was: chapping at the man's door, and 
crying ‘ boo 9 in his lum, and puttin' poother in his fire, and 
pee-oys*in his window; till themanthocht it yras auld Hornie 
was come see kin’ him. Weel, to mak a lang story short, 
Wully gaed gyte. At the hinder end, they couldnae get him 
frae his knees, but he just roared and prayed and grat straucht 
on, till he got his release. It was fair murder, a'body said 
that. Ask John Paul — he was brawly ashamed o' that game, 
him that's sic a Christian man! Grand doin's for the Master 
o' Ball’ntrae!" I asked him what the master had thought of 
himself. “How would I ken?" says he. “He never said 
naething." And on again in his usual manner of banning and 
swearing, with every now and again a “ Master of Ballantrae " 
sneered through his nose. It was in one of these confidences 
that he showed me the Carlisle letter, the print of the horse- 
shoe still stamped in the paper. Indeed that was our last 
confidence; for he then expressed himself so ill-naturedly of 
Mrs. Henry, that I had to reprimand him sharply, and must 
thenceforth hold him at a distance. 

My old lord was uniformly kind to Mr. Henry; he had even 
pretty ways of gratitude, and would sometimes clap him on 
the shoulder and say, as if to the world at large : 4 4 This is a 
yery good son to me." And grateful he was no doubt, being 
a man of sense and justice. But I think that was all, and I 
am sure Mr. Henry thought so. The love was all for the dead 
son. Not that this was often given breath to; indeed with me 
but once. My lord had asked me one day how I got on with 
Mr. Henry, and I had told him the truth. 

“ Ay," said he, looking sideways on the burning fire, 
“ Henry is a good lad, a very good lad," said he. “ You have 
heard, Mr. Mackellar, that I had another son? J. am afraid he 
was not so virtuous a lad as Mr. Henry; but dear me, he's 
dead, Mr. Mackellar! and while he lived we were all very 
proud of him, all very proud. If he was not all he should 
have been in some ways, well, perhaps we loved him better !" 
This last he said looking musingly in the. fire; and then to me, 
with a great deal of briskness, “ But I am rejoiced you do so 

* A kind of firework made with damp powder. 


20 THE MASTER OF BALLAtfTRAE. 

well with Mr. Hfenry. You will find him a good master. 
And with that he opened his book, which was the customary 
signal of dismission. But it would be little that he read and 
less that he understood; Culloden field and the master, these 
would be the burden of his thought; and the burden of mine 
was an unnatural jealousy of the dead man for Mr. Henry's 
sake, that had even then begun to grow on me. 

1 am keeping Mrs. Henry for the last so that this expression 
of my sentiment* may seem unwarrantably strong: the reader 
shall judge for himself when 1 have done. But I must first 
tell of another matter, which was the means of bringing me 
more intimate. I had not yet been six months at Durrisdeer 
when it chanced that John Paul fell sick and must keep his 
bed; drink was the root of his malady, in my poor thought; 
but he was tended and indeed carried himself like an afflicted 
saint; and the very minister, who came to visit him, professed 
himself edified when he went away. The third morning of his 
sickness, Mr. Henry comes to me with something of a hang- 
dog look. 

“ Mackellar," says he, “ 1 wish I could trouble you upon a 
little service. There is a pension we pay; it is John's part to 
carry it; and now that he is sick, I know not to whom I should 
look unless it was yourself. The matter is very delicate; I 
could not carry it with my own hand for a sufficient reason; I 
dare not send Macconochie who is a talker, and I am — I have 
■ — I am desirous this should not come to Mrs. Henry’s ears," 
says he, and flushed to his neck as he said it. 

To say truth, when 1 found I was to carry money to one 
Jessie Broun who was no better than she should be, I supposed 
it was some trip of his own that Mr. Henry was dissembling. 
I was the more impressed when the truth came out. 

It was up a wynd ofi a side street in St. Bride's that Jessie 
had her lodging. The place was very ill inhabited, mostly by 
the free-trading sort; there was a man with a broken head at 
the entry; half-way up, in a tavern, fellows were roaring and 
singing, though it was not yet nine in the day. Altogether, I 
had never seen a worse neighborhood even in the great city of 
Edinburgh, and 1 was in two minds to go back. Jessie's room 
was of a piece with her surroundings and herself no better. 
She would not give me the receipt (which Mr. Henry had told 
me to demand, for he was very methodical) until she had sent 
out for spirits and 1 had pledged her in a glass; and all the 
time she carried on in a light-headed, reckless wav, now aping 
the manners of a lady, now breaking into unseemly mirth. 


V 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 21 

now making coquettish advances that oppressed me to the 
ground. Of the money, she spoke more tragically. 

“ It's blood money,” said she, 44 I take it for that: blood 
money for the betrayed. See what I’m brought down to! 
Ah, if the bonnie lad were back again, it would be changed 
days. But he’s deid — he’s lyin’ deid amang the Hieland hills 
— the bonnie lad, the bonnie lad!” 

She had a rapt manner of crying on the bonnie lad, clasping 
her hands and casting up her eyes, that I think she must have 
learned of strolling players; and 1 thought her sorrow very 
much of an affectation, and that she dwelled upon the business 
because her shame was now all she had to be proud of. I will 
not say I did not pity her, but it was a loathing pity at the 
best; and her last change of manner wiped it out. This was 
when she had had enough of me for an audience and had set 
her name at last to the receipt. 44 There!” says she, and 
taking the most unwomanly oaths upon her tongue, bade me 
begone and carry it to the j udas who had sent me. It was the 
first time I had heard the name applied to Mr. Henry; I was 
staggered besides at her sudden vehemence of word and man- 
ner; and got forth from the room, under this shower of purses, 
like a beaten dog. But even then I waa not quit; for the vixen 
threw up her window and, leaning forth, continued to revile 
me as I went up the wynd; the free-traders, coming to the 
tavern door, joined in the mockery; and one had even the in- 
humanity to set upon me a very savage, small dog, which bit 
me in the ankle. This was a strong lesson, had I required 
one, to avoid ill company; and I rode home in much pain 
from the bite and considerable indignation of mind. 

Mr. Henry was in the steward’s room, affecting employ- 
ment, but 1 could see he was only impatient to hear of my 
errand. 

44 Well?” says he, as soon as I came in; and when I had 
told him something of what passed, and that Jessie seemed an 
undeserving woman and far from grateful: 44 She is no friend 
to me,” said he; 44 but indeed, Mackellar, I have few friends 
to boast of; and Jessie hks some cause to be unjust. 1 need 
not dissemble what all the country knows: she was not very 
well used by one of our family. ” This was the first time I 
had heard him refer to the master even distantly; and 1 think 
he found his tongue rebellious, -even for that much; but pres- 
ently he resumed. 44 This is why I would have nothing said. 
It would give pain to Mrs. Henry — and to my, father,” he 
added with another flush. 

44 Mr. Henry,” said I, 44 if you will take a freedom at my 


THE MASTER OE B A LLAMTR AE. 

hands, I would tell you to let that woman be. What service 
is your money to the like of her? She has no sobriety and no 
economy; as for gratitude, you will as soon get milk from a 
whinstone; and if you will pretermit your bounty, it will make 
no change at all but just to save the ankles of your mes- 
sengers. ” 

Mr. Henry smiled. 44 But I am grieved about your ankle, 
said he, the next moment, with a proper gravity. 

“ And observe,” I continued, 44 I give you this advice upon 
consideration; and yet my heart was touched for the woman 
in the beginning.” 

“ Why there it is, you see!” said Mr. Henry. 4 4 And you 
are to remember that 1 knew her once a very decent lass. 
Besides which, although I speak little of my family, I think 
much of its repute. ” 

And with that he broke up the talk, which was the first we 
had together in such confidence. But the same afternoon I 
had the proof that his father was perfectly acquainted with 
the business, and that it was only from his wife that Mr. 
Henry kept jt secret. 

4 4 1 fear you had a painful errand to-day,” says my lord to 
me: 44 for which, as it enters in no way among your duties, I 
wish to thank you, and to remind you at the same time (in 
case Mr. Henry should have neglected) how very desirable it is 
that no word of it should reach my daughter. Reflections on 
the dead, Mr. Mackellar, are doubly painful. ” 

Anger glowed in my heart; and I could have told my lord 
to his face how little he had to do, bolstering up the image of 
the dead in Mrs. Henryks heart, and how much better he were 
employed to shatter that false idol. For by this time I saw 
very well how the land lay between my patron and his wife. 

My pen is clear enough to tell a plain tale; but to render 
the effect of an infinity of small things, not one great enough 
in itself to be narrated; and to translate the story of looks, 
and the .message of voices when they, are saying no great 
matter; and to put in half a page the essence of near eighteen 
months: this is what I despair to accomplish. The fault, to 
be very blunt, lay all in Mrs. Henry. She felt it a merit to 
have consented to the marriage, and she took it like a martyr- 
dom; in which my old lord, whether he knew it or not, 
fomented her. She made a merit, besides, of her constancy 
to the dead; though its name, to a nicer conscience, should 
have seemed rather disloyalty to the living; and here also my 
lord gave her his countenance. I suppose he was glad to talk 
of his loss, and ashamed to dwell on it with Mr. Henry. Cer- 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


23 


tainly, at least, he made a little coterie apart in that family of 
three, and it was the husband who was shut out. It seems it 
was an old custom when the family were alone in Durrisdeer, 
that my lord should take his wine to the chimney- side, and 
Miss Alison (instead of withdrawing) should bring a stool to 
his knee and chatter to him privately; and after she had be- 
come my patron's wife, the same manner of doing was con- 
tinued. It should have been pleasant to behold this ancient 
gentleman so loving with his daughter; but I was too much a 
partisan of Mr. Henry's to be anything but wroth at his ex- 
clusion. Many's the time 1 have seen him make an obvious 
resolve, quit the table, and go and join himself to his wife and 
my Lord Durrisdeer; and on their part, they were never back- 
ward to make him welcome, turned to him smilingly as to an 
intruding child, and took him into their talk with an effort so 
ill-concealed that he was soon back again beside me at the 
table; whence (so great is the hall of Durrisdeer) we could but 
hear the murmur of voices at the chimney. There he would 
sit and watch, and I along with him; and sometimes by my 
lord's head sorrowfully shaken, or his hand laid on Mrs. 
Henry’s head, or hers upon his knee as if in consolation, or 
sometimes by an exchange of tearful looks, we would draw our 
conclusion that the talk had gone to the old Subject and the 
shadow of the dead was in the hall. 

I have hours when I blame Mr. Henry for taking all too 
patiently; yet we are to remember he was married in pity, and 
accepted his wife upon that term. And indeed he had small 
encouragement to make a stand. Once, I remember, he an- 
nounced he had found a man to replace the pane of the 
stained window; which, as it was he that managed all the 
business, was a thing clearly within his attributions. But to 
the master's fanciers, that pane was like a relic; and on the 
first word of any change, the blood flew to Mrs. Henry's face. 

“ I woiider at you!" she criqd. 

“ I wonder at myself," says Mr. Henry, with more of 
bitterness than I had ever heard him to express. 

Thereupon my old lord stepped in with his smooth talk, so 
that before the meal was at an end all seemed forgotten; only 
that, after dinner, when the pair had withdrawn as usual to 
the chimney-side, we could see her weeping with her head upon 
his knee. Mr. Henry kept up the talk with me upon some 
topic of the estates — he could speak of little else but business, 
and was never the best of company; but he kept it up that 
day with more continuity, his eye straying ever and again to 
the chimney and his voice changing to another key, but with- 


24 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


out check of delivery. The pane, however, was not replaced; 
and I believe he counted it a great defeat. 

Whether he was stout enough or no, God knows he was kind 
enough. Mrs. Henry had a manner of condescension with 
him, such as (in a wife) would have pricked my vanity into an 
ulcer; he took it like a favor. She held him at the staff’s 
end; forgot and then remembered and unbent to him, as we 
do to children; burdened him with cold kindness; reproved 
him with a change of color and a bitten lip, like one shamed 
by his disgrace: ordered him with a look of the eye, when she 
was off- her guard; when she was on the watch, pleaded with 
him for the most natural attentions as though they were un- 
heard-of favors. And to all this, he replied with the most 
unwearied service; loving, as folk say, the very ground she 
trod on, and carrying that love in his eyes as bright as a lamp. 
W r hen Miss Katharine was to be born, nothing would serve but 
he must stay in the room behind the head of the bed. There 
he sat, as white (they tell me) as a sheet and the sweat drop- 
ping from his brow; and the handkerchief he had in his hand 
was crushed into a little ball no bigger than a musket bullet. 
Nor could he bear the sight of Miss Katharine for many a day; 
indeeed I doubt if he was ever what he should have been to 
my young lady; for the which want of natural feeling, he was 
loudly blamed. 

Such was the state of this family down to the 7th of April, 
1749, when there befell the first of that series of events which 
were to break so many hearts and lose so many lives. 

On that day I was sitting in my room a little before supper, 
when John Paul burst open the door with no civility of knock- 
ing, and told me there was one below that wished to speak 
with the steward; sneering at the name of my office. 

I asked what manner of man, and what his name was; and 
this disclosed the cause of John’s ill humor; for it appeared 
the visitor ref used to name himself except to me, a sore affront 
to the major-domo’s consequence. 

“ Well,’’ said I, smiling a little, “ I will see what he wants.” 

I found in the entrance hall a big man very plainly habited 
and wrapped in a sea-cloak, like one new landed, as indeed he 
was. Not far off Macconocliie was standing, with his tongue 
out of his mouth and his hand upon his chin, like a dull fellow 
thinking hard; and the stranger, who had brought his cloak 
about his face, appeared uneasy. He had no sooner seen me 
coming than he went to meet me with an effusive manner. 

My dear man,”' said he, “ a thousand apologies for. dis- 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


25 


turbing you, but I’m in the most awkward position. And 
there’s a son of a ramrod there that I should know the looks 
of, and more betoken I believe that he knows mine. Being 
in this family, sir, and in a place of some responsibility (which 
was the cause I took the liberty to send for you), you are 
doubtless of the honest party?” 

“You may be sure at least,” says I, “ that all of that party 
are quite safe in Durrisdeer.” 

“ My dear man, it is my very thought,” says he. “You 
see I have just been set on shore here by a very honest man, 
whose name I can not remember, and who is to stand off and 
on for me till morning, at some danger to himself; and, to be 
clear with you, 1 am a little concerned lest it should be at 
some to me. I have saved my life so often, Mr. — I forget your 
name, which is a very good one — that, faith, I would be very 
loatn to lose it after all. And the son of a ramrod, whom 1 
believe I saw before Carlisle — ” 

“ Oh, sir,” said I, “ you can trust Macconochie until to- 
morrow. ” 

“ W61I, and it’s a delight to hear you say so,” says the 
stranger. “ The truth is that my name is not a very suitable 
one in this country of Scotland. With a gentleman like you, 
my deal man, I would have no concealments of course; and 
by your leave. I’ll just breathe it in your ear. They call me 
Francis Burke — Colonel Francis Burke; and I am heie, at a 
most damnable risk to myself, to see your masters — if you’ll 
excuse me, my good man, for giving them the name, for I’m 
sure it’s a circumstance I would never have guessed from your 
appearance. And if you would just be so very obliging as**to 
take my name to them, you might say that I come bearing 
letters which 1 am sure they will be very rejoiced to have the 
reading of.” 

Colonel Francis Burke was one of the prince’s Irishmen, 
that did his cause such an infinity of hurt and were so much 
distasted of the Scots at the time of the rebellion; and it came 
at once into my mind how the Master of Ballantrae had as- 
tonished all men by going with that party. In the same 
moment a strong foreboding of the truth possessed my soul. 

“ If you will step in here,” said I, opening a chamber door, 
“I will let my lord know.” 

“ And I am sure it’s very good of you, Mr. What-is-your- 
name,” says the colonel. 

Up to the hall I went, slow footed. There they were all 
three, my old lord in his place, Mrs. Henry at work by the 
window, Mr. Henry (as was much his custom) pacing the low 


2(> THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

end. In the midst, was the table laid for supper. I told them 
briefly what 1 had to say. My old lord lay back m his seat. 
Mrs. Henry sprung up standing with a mechanical motion, 
and she and her husband stared at each other’s eyes across the 
room; it was the strangest, challenging look these two ex- 
changed, and as they looked, the color faded in their faces. 
Then Mr. Henry turned to me; not to speak, only to sign with 
his finger; but that was enough, and I went down again for 
the colonel. 

When we returned, these three were in much the same posi- 
tion I had left them in; I believe no word had passed. 

“ My Lord Durrisdeer no doubt?”^ says the colonel, bowing, 
and my lord bowed in answer. “ And this,” continues the 
colonel, “ should be the Master of Ballantrae?” 

“ 1 have never taken that name,” said Mr. Henry; “ but I • 
am Henry Durie at your service. ” 

Then the colonel turns to Mrs. Henry, bowing with his hat 
upon his heart and the most killing airs of gallantry. “ There 
can be no mistake about so fine a figure of a lady,” says he. 
“ I address the seductive Miss Alison, of whom 1 have so often 
heard?” 

Once more husband and wife exchanged a look. 

“ I am Mrs. Henry Durie,” said she; “ but before my 
marriage my name was Alison Graeme.” 

Then my lord spoke up. “ I am an old man. Colonel 
Burke,” said he, “ and a frail one. It will be mercy on your 
part to be expeditious. Do you bring me news of — ” he hesi- 
tated, and then the words broke from him with a singular 
change of voice — “ my son?” 

“ My dear lord, I will be round with you like a soldier,” 
said the colonel. 4 4 1 do. ” 

My lord held out a wavering hand; he seemed to wave a 
signal, but whether it was to give him time or to speak on, 
was more than we could guess. At length, he got out the one 
word — “ Good?” 

“ Why, the very best in the creation!” cries the colonel. 
“ For my good friend and admired comrade is at this hour in 
the fine city of Paris, and as like as not, if 1 know anything of 
his habits, he will be drawing in his chair to a piece of dinner. 
Bedad, I believe the lady’s fainting. ” 

Mrs. Henry was indeed the color of death, and drooped 
against the window frame. But when Mr. Henry made a 
movement as if to run to her, she straightened with a sort of 
shiver, “lam well,” she said, with her white lips. 

Mr. Henry stopped, and his face had a strong twitch of 


THE MASTER OF B ALLA MTRAE. 


27 


anger. The next moment, he had turned to the colonel. 
“ You must not blame yourself ,” says he, “ for this effect on 
Mrs. Durie. It is only natural; we were all brought up like 
brother and sister. ” 

Mrs. Henry looked at her husband with something like re- 
lief or even gratitude. In my way of thinking, that speech 
was the first step he made in her good graces. 

“ You must try to forgive me, Mrs. Durie, for indeed and 
I am just an Irish savage,” said the colonel; “ and I deserve 
to be shot for not breaking the matter more artistically to a 
lady. But here are the master's own letters; one for each of 
the three of you; and to be sure (if I know anything of my 
friend's genius) he will tell his own story with a better grace.'' 

He brought the three letters forth as he spoke, arranged 
them by their superscriptions, presented the first to my lord, 
who took it greedily, and advanced toward Mrs. Henry hold- 
ing out the second. 

But the lady waved it back. “ To my husband,'' says she, 
with a choked voice. 

The colonel was a quick man, but at this he was somewhat 
nonplused. “ To be sure,'' says he, “ how very dull of me! 
To be sure. ” But he still held the letter. 

At last Mr. Henry reached forth his hand, and there was 
nothing, to be done but give it up. Mr. Henry took the let- 
ters (both hers and his own) and looked upon their outside, 
with his brows knit hard as if he were thinking. He had sur- 
prised me all through by his excellent behavior; but he was to 
excel himself now. 

“Let me give you a hand to your room,” said he to his 
wife. “ This has come something of the suddenest; and at 
any rate, you will wish to read your letter by yourself. " 

Again she looked upon him with the same thought of won- 
der; but he gave her no time, coming straight to where she 
stqod. “ It will be better so, believe me,” said he, “ and 
Colonel Burke is too considerate not to excuse you.” And 
with that he took her hand by the fingers, and led her from 
the hall. 

Mrs. Henry returned no more that night; and when Mr. 
Henry went to visit her next morning, as I heard long after- 
ward, she gave him the letter again, still unopened. 

“ Oh, read it and be done!” he had cried. 

“ Spare me that,” said she. 

And by these two speeches, to my way of thinking, each un- 
did a great part of what they had previously done well. But 


28 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


the letter, sure enough, came into my hands and by me was 
burned^ unopened. 

To be very exact as to the adventures of the master after 
Culloden, I wrote not long ago to Colonel Burke, now a 
Chevalier of the Order of St. Louis, begging him for some 
notes in writing, since 1 could scarce depend upon my memory 
at so great an interval. To confess the truth, I have been 
somewhat embarrassed by his response; for he sent me the 
complete memoirs of his life, touching only in places on the 
master; running to a much greater length than my whole 
story, and, not everywhere (as it seems to me) designed for 
edification. He begged in his letter, dated from Ettenheim, 
that I would find a publisher for the whole, after I had made 
what use of it .1 required; and I think I shall best answer my 
own purpose and fulfill his wishes by printing certain parts of 
it in full. In this way my readers will have a detailed and 1 
believe a very genuine account of some essential matters; and 
if any publisher should take a fancy to the chevalier's manner 
of narration, he knows where to apply for the rest, of which 
there is plenty at his service. I put in my first extract here, 
so that it may stand in the place of what the chevalier told us 
over our wine in the hall of Durrisdeer; but you are to sup- 
pose it was not the brutal fact, but a very varnished version 
that he offered to my lord. 


THE MASTER'S WANDERINGS. 

From the Memoirs of the Chevalier de Burlce . 

.... I left Ruthven (it's hardly necessary to remark) 
with much greater satisfaction than^l had come to it; but 
whether I missed my way in the deserts, or whether my com- 
panions failed me, I soon found myself alone. This was a 
predicament very disagreeable; for I never understood this 
horrid country or savage people, and the last stroke of the 
prince's withdrawal had made us of the Irish more unpopular 
than ever. 1 was reflecting on my poor chances, when I saw 
another horseman on the hill, whom 1 supposed at first to have 
been a phantom, the news of his death in the very front at 
Culloden being current in the army generally. This was the 
Master of Ballantrae, my Lord Durrisdeer 's son, a young 
nobleman of the rarest gallantry and parts, and equally de- 
signed by nature to adorn a court and to reap laurels in the 
field. Our meeting was the more welcome to both, as he was 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 29 

one of the few Scots who had used the Irish with considera- 
tion and as he might now be of very high utility in aiding my 
escape. Yet what founded our particular friendship was a 
circumstance by itself, as romantic as any fable of King 
Arthur. ‘ 

This was on the second day of our flight, after we had slept 
one night in the rain upon the inclination of a mountain. 
There was an Appin man, Alan Black Stewart (or some such 
name,* but I have seen him since in France) who chanced to 
be passing the same way, and had a jealousy of my com- 
panion. Very uncivil expressions were exchanged; and Stew- 
art calls upon the master to alight and have it out. 

‘‘Why, Mr. Stewart,” says the master, “ 1 think at the 
present time 1 would prefer to run a race with you . 99 And 
with the word claps spurs to his horse. 

Stewart ran after us, ,a childish thing to do, for more than 
a mile'; and I could not help laughing as I looked back at 
last and saw him on a hill holding his hand to his side and 
nearly burst with running. 

“ But all the same,” I could not help saying to my com- 
panion, “ I would let no man run after me for any such proper 
purpose and not give him his desire. It was a good jest, but 
it smells a trifle cowardly.” 

He bent his brows at me. “ I do pretty well,” says he, 
“ when I saddle myself with the most unpopular man in Scot- 
land, and let that suffice for courage. ” 

“ Oh, bedad,” says I, “ I could show you a more unpopular 
with the naked eye. And if you like not my company, you 
can ‘ saddle 9 yourself on some one else.” 

“ Colonel Burke,” says he, “ do not let us quarrel; and to 
that effect, let me assure you I am the least patient man in 
the world.” 

“ I am as little patient as yourself,” said I. “I care not 
who knows that.” 

“ At this rate/ 9 said he, reining in, “ we shall not go very 
far. And I propose we do one of two things upon the instant : 
either quarrel and be done, or make a sure bargain to bear 
everything at each other’s hands.” 

“ Like a pair of brothers?” said 1. 

“ I said no such foolishness,” he replied. “ 1 have a broth- 
er of my own, and I think no more of him than of a colewort. 

* Note by Mr. Mackellar : Should not this be Alan Breck Stewart, 
afterward notorious as the Appin murderer? The chevalier is some- 
' . v<?r, w ik on names. 


30 THE MASTER , OF BALLAHTRAE. 

But if we are to have our noses rubbed together in this course 
of flight, let us each dare to be ourselves like savages, and 
each swear that he will neither resent nor deprecate the other. 

I am a pretty bad fellow at bottom, and I find the pretense of 
virtues very irksome.” 

“ Oh, I am as bad as yourself,” said I. 44 There is no skim 
milk in Francis Burke. But which is it to be? Fight or 
make friends?” 

“ Why,” says he, “I think it will be the best manner to 
spin a coin for it. ” 

This proposition was too highly chivalrous not to take my 
fancy; and. strange as it may seem of two well-born gentlemen 
of to-day, we spun a half crown (like a pair of ancient pala- 
dins) whether we were to cut each other’s throats or be sworn 
friends. A more romantic circumstance can rarely have 
occurred; and it is one of those points in my memoirs, by 
which we may see the old tales of Homer and the poets are 
equally true to-day, at least of the noble and genteel. The 
coin fell for peace, and we shook hands upon our bargain. 
And then it was that my companion explained to me his 
thought in running away from. Mr. Stewart, which was cer- 
tainly worthy of his political intellect. The report of his 
death, he said, was a great guard to him; Mr. Stewart having 
recognized him, had become a danger; and he had taken the 
briefest road to that gentleman’s silence. 44 For,” says he, 
44 Alan Black is too vain a man to narrate any such story of 
himself. ” 

Toward afternoon we came down to the shores of that loch 
for which we were heading; and there was the ship but newly 
come to anchor. She was the 4 4 Sainte-Marie-des-Anges,” out 
of the port of Havre-de-Grace. The master, after we had 
signaled, for a boat, asked me if I knew the captain. I told 
him he was a countryman of mine, of the most unblemished 
integrity, but, I was afraid, a rather timorous man. 

44 No matter,” says he. 44 For all that, he should certainly 
hear the truth.” 

I asked him if he meant about the battle; for if the captain 
once knew the standard was down, he would certainly put to 
sea again at once. 

44 And even then!” said he; 44 the arms are now of no sort 
of utility.” 

44 My dear man,” said 1, 44 who thinks of the arms? But to 
be sure we must remember our friends. They will be close 
upon our heels, perhaps the prince himself, and if the ship be 
gone, a great number of valuable lives may be imperiled.” 




THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 31 

44 The captain and the crew have lives also, if you come to 
that,” says Ballantrae. 

This I declared was but a quibble, and that I would not 
hear of the captain being told; and then it was that Ballantrae 
made me a witty answer, for the sake of which (and also be- 
cause I have been blamed myself in this business of the 
44 Sainte-Marie-des-Anges ”) 1 have related the whole conver- 
sation as it passed. 

44 Frank,” says he, 44 remember our bargain. 1 must not 
object to your holding your tongue, which 1 hereby even en- 
courage you to do ; but by the same terms, you are not to 
resent my telling.” 

I could not help laughing at this; though I still forewarned 
him what would come of it. , 

44 The devil may come of it for what I care,” “says the reck- 
less fellow. 44 1 have always done exactly as I felt inclined.” 

As is well known, my prediction came true. The captain 
had no sooner heard the news than he cut his cable and to sea 
again ; and before morning broke, we were in the Great Minch. 

The ship was very old; and the skipper although the most 
honest of men (and Irish too) was one of the least capable. 
The wind blew very boisterous, and the sea raged extremely. 
All that day we had little heart whether to eat or drink; went 
early to rest in some concern of mind; and (as if to give us a 
lesson) in the night, the wind chopped suddenly into the north- 
east, and blew a hurricane. We were awaked by the dreadful 
thunder of the tempest and the stamping of the mariners on 
deck; so that I supposed our last hour was certainly come;, 
and the terror of my mind was increased out of all measure by 
Ballantrae, who mocked at my devotions. It is in hours like 
these that a man of any piety appears in his true light, and 
we find (what we are taught as babes) the small trust that can 
be set in worldly friends; 1 would be unworthy of my religion 
if I let this pass without particular remark. For three days 
we lay in the dark in the cabin, and had but a biscuit to nib- 
ble. On the fourth the wind fell, leaving the ship dismasted 
and heavi'"~ on vast billows. The captain had not a guess of 
whit v.: wor-* blown; he was stark ignorant of his trade, 
and eouki do o ought but bless the Hoiy Virgin; a very good 
thing tco h rt arce the whole of seamanship. It seemed our 
one hope v <. to be picked up by another vessel; and if that 
sbou T o pro . he an English ship, it might be no great bless- 
ing t ■ ! v. n - « . ter and myself. 

The. fifth < ' sixth days we tossed there helpless. The 
was got on her, but she was an unwieldy 


32 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


vessel at the best, and we made little but leeway. All the 
time, indeed, we had been drifting to the south and west, and 
during the tempest must have driven in that direction with 
unheard-of violence. The ninth dawn was cold and black, 
with a great sea running, and every mark of foul weather. In 
this situation, we were overjoyed to sight a small ship on the 
horizon, and to perceive her go about and head for the 
“ Sainte-Marie. ” But our gratification did not very long en- 
dure; for when she had laid to and lowered a boat, it was im- 
mediately filled with disorderly fellows, who sung and shouted 
as they pulled across to us, and swarmed in on our deck with 
hare cutlasses, cursing loudly! Their leader was a horrible 
villain, with his face blacked and his whiskers curled in ring- 
lets: Teach, his *name; a most notorious pirate. He stamped 
about the deck, raving and crying out that his name was Satan 
and his ship was called “ Hell.” There was something about 
him like a wicked child or a half-witted person, that daunted 
me beyond expression. I whispered in the ear of Ballantrae 
that I would not be the last to volunteer and only prayed God 
they might be short of hands; he approved my purpose with a 
nod. 

“ Bed ad,” said 1 to Master Teach, “ if you are Satan, here 
is a divil for ye. ” 

The word pleased him; and (not to dwell upon these shock- 
ing incidents) Ballantrae and I and two others were taken for 
recruits, while the skipper and all the rest were cast into the 
sea by the method of walking the plank. It was the first time ' 
I had seen this done; my heart died within me at the spectacle; 
and Master Teach or one of his acolytes (for my head was too 
much lost to be precise) remarked upon my pale face in a very 
alarming manner. 1 had the strength to cut a step or two of 
a jig and cry out some ribaldry, which saved me for that time; 
but my legs were like water when I must get down into the 
skiff among these miscreants; and what with my horror of my 
company and fear of the monstrous billows, it was all 1 could 
do to keep an Irish tongue and break a jest or two as we were 
pulled aboard. By the blessing of God, there was a fiddle in 
the pirate ship, which 1 had no sooner seen than I fell upon; 
and in my quality of crowder, 1 had the heavenly good luck to 
get favor in their eyes. Crowding Pat was the name they 
dubbed me with; and it was little I cared for a name so long 
as my skin was whole. 

What kind of a pandemonium tjiat vessel was, I can not de- 
scribe, but she was commanded by a lunatic, and might be 
called a floating Bedlam. Drinking, roaring, singing, quar- 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


33 


reling, dancing, they were never all sober at one time; and 
there were days together when, if a squall had supervened, it 
must have sent us to the bottom, or if a king's ship had come 
along, it would have found us quite helpless for defense. 
Once or twice we sighted a sail, and if we were sober enough, 
overhauled it, God forgive us! and if we were all too drunk, 
she got away, and I would bless the saints under my breath. 
Teach ruled, if you can call that rule which brought no order, 
by the terror he created; and I observed the man was very 
vain of his position. I have known marshals of France, ay, 
and even Highland chieftains that were less openly puffed up; 
which throws a singular light on the pursuit of honor and 
glory. Indeed the longer we live, the more we perceive the 
sagacity of Aristotle? and the other old philosophers; &nd 
though I have all my life been eager for legitimate distinc- 
tions, 1 can lay my hand upon my heart, at the end of my 
career, and declare there is not one — no, nor yet life itfeelf — 
which is worth acquiring or preserving at the slightest cost of 
dignity. 

It was long before I got private speech of Ballantrae; but at 
length one night we crept out upon the boltsprit, when the 
rest were better employed, and commiserated our position. 

“ None can deliver us but the saints," said I. 

“ My mind is very different," said Ballantrae; “ for I am 
going to deliver myself. This Teach is the poorest creature 
possible; we make no profit of him and lie continually open to 
capture; and," says he, “ I am not going to be a tarry pirate 
for nothing, nor yet to hang in chains if I can help it." And 
he told me what was in his mind to better the state of the ship 
in the way of discipline, which would give us safety for the 
present, and a sooner hope of deliverance when they should 
have gained enough and should break up their company. 

I confessed to him ingenuously that my nerve was quite 
shook amid these horrible surroundings, and I durst scarce 
tell him to count upon me. 

“ I am not very easy frightened," said he, “ nor very easy 
beat." 

A few days after there befell an accident which had nearly 
hanged us all, and offers the most extraordinary picture of the 
folly that ruled in our concerns. We were all pretty drunk; 
and some bedlamite spying a sail, Teach put the ship about in 
chase without a glance, and we began to bustle up the arms 
and boast of the horrors that should follow. I observed Bal- 
lantrae stood quiet in the bows, looking under the shade of his 
hand;- but for my part, true to my policy among these sav- 


34 THE MASTER OE BALLAKTRAE. 

ages, I was at work with the busiest and passing Irish jests for 
their diversion. 

“ Run up the colors,” cries Teach. “ Show the s the 

Jolly Roger!” 

It was the merest drunken braggadocio at such a stage, and 
might have lost us a valuable prize; but I thought it no part 
of mine to reason, and I ran up the black flag with my own 
hand. 

Ballantrae steps presently aft with a smile upon his face. 

“ You may perhaps like to know, you drunken dog,” says 
he, “ that you are chasing a king’s ship.” 

Teach roared him the lie; but he ran at the same time to 
the bulwarks, and so did they all. I have never seen so many 
drunken men struck suddenly sober. The cruiser had gone 
about, upon our impudent display of colors; she was just then 
filling on the new tack; her ensign blew out quite plain to see; 
and even as we stared, there came a puff of smoke, and then 
a report, and a shot plunged in the waves a good way short of 
us. Some ran to the ropes and got the “ Sarah ” round with 
an incredible swiftness. One fellow fell on the rum barrel, 
which stood broached upon the deck, and rolled it promptly 
overboard. On my part, 1 made for the Jolly Roger, struck 
it, tossed it in the sea, and could have flung myself after, so 
vexed, was I with our mismanagement. As for Teach, he grew 
as pale as death, and incontinently went down to his cabin. 
Only twice he came on deck that afternoon; went to the 
taffrail; took a long look at the king’s ship, which was still on 
the horizon heading after us; and then, without speech, back 
to his cabin. You may say he deserted us; and if it had not 
been for one very capable sailor we had on board, and for the 
lightness of the airs that blew all day, we must certainly have 
gone to the yard-arm. 

It is to be supposed Teach was humiliated, and perhaps 
alarmed for his position with the crew; and the way in which 
he set about regaining what he had lost was highly character- 
istic of the man. Early next day we smelled him burning 
sulphur in his cabin and crying out of 4 4 Hell, hell!” which 
was well understood among the crew, and filled their minds 
with apprehension. Presently he comes on deck, a perfect 
figure of fun, his face blacked, his hair and whiskers curled, 
his belt stuck full of pistols, chewing bits of glass so that the 
blood ran down his chin, and brandishing a dirk. I do not 
know if he had taken these manners from the Indians of 
America, where he was a native; but such was his way, and 
he would always thus announce that he was wound up to hor- 


THE MASTER CE BALLANTRAE. 


35 


rid deeds. The first that came near him was the fellow who 
had sent the rum overboard the day before; him he stabbed to 
the heart, damning him for a mutineer; and then he capered 
about the body, raving and swearing and daring us to come 
on. It was the silliest exhibition; and yet dangerous too, for 
the cowardly fellow was plainly working himself up to another 
murder. 

All of a sudden Ballantrae stepped forth. £< Have done 
with this play-acting,” says he. “ Do you think to frighten 
us with making faces? We saw nothing of you yesterday when 
you were wanted ; and we did well without you, let me tell 
you that.” 

There was a murmur and a movement in the crew of pleas- 
ure and alarm, 1 thought, in nearly equal parts. As for 
Teach, he gave a barbarous howl, and swung his dirk to fling 
it, an art in which (like many seamen) he was very expert. 

“ Knock that out of his hand!” says Ballantrae, so sudden 
and sharp that my arm obeyed him before my mind had under- 
stood. 

Teach stood like one stupid, never thinking on his pistols. 

“ Go down to your cabin,” cries Ballantrae, “ and come on 
deck again when you are sober. Do you think we are going 
to hang for you, you black-faced, half-witted, drunken brute 
and butcher? Go down!” And he stamped his foot at him 
with such a sudden smartness that Teach fairly ran for it to 
the companion. 

“ And now, mates,” says Ballantrae, “ a word with you. I 
don't know if you are gentlemen of fortune for the fun of the 
thing; but I am not. I want to make money, and get ashore 
again, and spend it like a man. And on one thing my mind 
is made up: I will not hang if I can help it. Come: give me 
a hint; I'm only a beginner! Is there no way to get a little 
discipline and common sense about this business?” 

One of the men spoke up: he said by rights they should 
have a quartermaster; and no sooner was the word out of his 
mouth, than they were all of that opinion. The thing went 
by acclamation; Ballantrae was made quartermaster, the rum 
was put in his charge, laws were passed in imitation of those 
of a pirate by the name of Roberts; and the last proposal was 
to make an end of Teach. But Ballantrae was afraid of a 
more efficient captain, who might be a counterweight to him- 
self, and he opposed this stoutly. Teach, he said, was good 
enough to board ships and frighten fools with his blacked face 
and swearing; we could scarce get a better man than Teach 
for that; and besides, as the man was now disconsidered and 


36 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


as good as deposed, vve might reduce his proportion of the 
plunder. This carried it; Teach" s share was cut down to a 
mere derision, being actually less than mine; and there re- 
mained only two points: whether he would consent, and who 
was to announce to him this resolution. 

“ Do not let that stick you/" says Ballantrae, “ I will do 
that."" 

And he stepped to the companion and down alone into the 
cabin to face that drunken savage. 

“ This is the man for us/" cries one of the hands. 44 Three 
cheers for the quartermaster!"" which were given with a will, 
my voice among the loudest, and I dare say these plaudits had 
their effect on Master Teach in the cabin, as we have seen of. 
late days how shouting in the streets may trouble even the 
minds of legislators. 

What passed precisely was never known, though some of the 
heads of it came to the surface later on; and we were all 
amazed as well as gratified when Ballantrae came on deck 
with Teach upon his arm, and announced that all had been 
consented. 

I pass swiftly over those twelve or fifteen months in which 
we continued to keep the sea in the North Atlantic, getting 
our food and water from the ships we overhauled and doing on 
the whole a pretty fortunate business. Sure no one could wish 
to read anything so ungenteel as the memoirs of a pirate, even 
an unwilling one like me ! Things went extremely better with 
our designs, and Ballantrae kept his lead to my admiration 
from that day forth. I would be tempted to suppose that a 
gentleman must everywhere be first, even aboard a rover; but 
my birth is every whit as good as any Scottish lord’s, and 1 
am not ashamed to confess that I stayed Crowding Pat until 
the end, and was not much better than the crew’s buffoon. 
Indeed it was no scene to bring out my merits. My health 
suffered from a variety of reasons; I was more at home to the 
last on a horse’s back than a ship’s deck; and to be ingenuous, 
the fear of the sea was constantly in my mind, battling with 
the fear of my companions. I need not cry myself up for 
courage; I have done well on many fields under the eyes of 
famous generals, and earned my late advancement by an act 
of the most distinguished valor before many witnesses. But 
when we must proceed on one of our abordages, the heart of 
Francis Burke was in his boots; the little egg-shell skiff in 
which we must set forth, the horrible heaving of the vast bil- 
lows, the height of the ship that we must scale, the thought of 
how many might be there in garrison upon their legitimate 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 37 

defense, the scowling heavens which (in that climate) so often 
looked darkly down upon our exploits, and the mere crying of 
the wind in my ears, were all considerations most unpalatable 
to my valor. Besides which, as I was always a creature of the 
nicest sensibility, the scenes that must follow on our success 
tempted me as little as the chances of defeat. Twice we found 
women on board; and though 1 have seen towns sacked, and 
of late days in France some very horrid public tumults, there 
was something in the smallness of the numbers engaged and 
the bleak, dangerous sea-surroundings that made these acts of 
piracy far the most revolting. I confess ingenuously I could 
never proceed, unless I was three parts drunk; it was the same 
even with the crew; Teach himself was fit for no enterprise 
till he was full of rum; and it was one of the most difficult 
parts of Ballantrae's performance to serve us with liquor in 
the proper quantities. Even this he did to admiration ; being 
upon the whole the most capable man I ever met with, and 
the one of the most natural genius. He did not even scrape 
favor with the crew, as I did, by continual buffoonery made 
upon a very anxious heart; but preserved on most occasions a 
great deal of gravity and distance; so that he was like a parent 
among a family of young children or a school -master with his 
boys. What made his part the'* harder to perform, the men 
Were most inveterate grumblers; Ballantrae's discipline, little 
as it was, was yet irksome to their love of license; and what 
was worse, being kept sober they had time to think. Some 
of them accordingly would fall to repenting their abominable 
crimes; one in particular, who was a good Catholic and with 
whom I would sometimes steal apart for prayer; above all in 
bad weather, fogs, lashing rain and the like, when we would 
be the less observed ; and I am sure no two criminals in the 
cart have ever performed their devotions with more anxious 
sincerity. But the rest having no such grounds of hope, fell 
to another pastime, that of computation. All day long they 
would be telling up their shares or glooming over the result. 
I have said we were pretty fortunate. But an observation fails 
to be made: that in this world, in no business that I have tried, 
do the profits rise to a man's expectations. We found many 
ships and took many; yet few of them contained much money, 
their goods were usually nothing to our purpose — what did we 
want with a cargo of plows or even of tobacco? — and it is quite 
a painful reflection how many whole crews we have made to 
walk the plank for no more than a stock of biscuit or an anker 
or two of spirit. 

In the meanwhile, our ship was growing very foul, and it 


38 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


was high time we should make for our port de carrenage, 
which was in the estuary of a river among swamps. It was 
openly understood that we should then break up and go and 
squander our proportions of the spoil; and this made every 
man greedy of a little more, so that our decision was delayed 
from day to day. What finally decided matters was a trifling 
accident, such as an ignorant person might suppose incidental 
to our way of life. But here 1 must explain: on only one of 
all the ships we boarded — the first on which we found women 
— did we meet with any genuine resistance. On that occasion 
we had two men killed, and several injured, and if it had not 
been for the gallantry of Ballantrae, we had surely been beat 
back at last. Everywhere else, the defense (where there was 
any at all) was what the worst troops in Europe would have 
laughed at; so that the most dangerous part of our employ- 
ment was to clamber up the side of the ship; and I have even 
known the poor souls on board to cast us a line, so eager were 
they to volunteer instead of walking the plank. This constant 
immunity had made our fellows very soft, so that 1 understood 
how Teach had made so deep a mark upon their minds; for 
indeed the company of that lunatic was the chief danger in our 
way of life. The accident to which *L have referred was this. 
"W e had sighted a little full-rigged ship very close under our 
board in a haze; she sailed near as well as we did — 1 should be 
near the truth if" I said near as ill; and we cleared the bow- 
chaser to see if we could bring a spar or two about their ears. 
The swell was exceeding great; the motion of the ship beyond 
description; it was little wonder if our gunners should fire 
thrice and be still quite broad of what they aimed at. But in 
the meanwhile the chase had cleared a stern gun, the thick- 
ness of the air concealing them; being better marksmen, their 
first shot struck us in the bows, knocked our two gunners into 
mince-meat, so that we were all sprinkled with the blood, and 
pi unged through the deck into the forecastle, where we slept. 
Ballantrae would have held on; indeed there was nothing in 
this contretemps to affect the mind of any soldier; but he had 
a quick perception of the men's wishes, and it was plain this 
lucky shot had given them a sickener of their trade. In a 
moment they were all of one mind: the chase was drawing 
away from us, it was needless to hold on., the “ Sarah ” was 
too foul to overhaul a bottle, it was mere foolery to keep the 
sea with her; and on these pretended grounds her head was 
incontinently put about and the course laid for the river. It 
was strange to see what merriment fell on that ship’s com- 
pany, and how they stamped about the deck jesting, and each 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 39 

computing what increase had come to his share by the death 
of the two gunners. 

We were nine days making our port, so light were the airs 
we had to sail on, so foul the ship's bottom; but early on the 
tenth, before dawn, and in a light, lifting haze, w*e passed the 
head. A little after, the haze lifted, and fell again, showing 
us a cruiser very close. This was a sore blow, happening so 
near our refuge. There was a great debate of whether she had 
seen us, and if so whether it was likely they had recognized 
the “ Sarah." AVe were very careful, by destroying every 
member of those crews we overhauled, to leave no evidence as 
to our own persons; but the appearance of the “ Sarah 99 her- 
self we could not keep so private; and above all of laj;e, since 
she had been foul and we had pursued many ships without 
success, it was plain that her description had been often pub- 
lished. I supposed this alert would have made us separate 
upon the instant. But here again that original genius of Bal- 
lantrae 's had a surprise in store for me. He and Teach (and 
it was the most remarkable step of his success) had gone hand 
in hand since the first day of his appointment. I often ques- 
tioned him upon the fact, and never got an answer but once, 
when he told me he and Teach had an understanding “ which 
would very much surprise the crew if they should hear of it, 
and would surprise himself a good deal if it was carried out." 
Well, here again, he and Teach were of a mind; and by their 
joint procurement, the anchor was no sooner down than the 
whole crew went off on a scene of drunkenness indescribable. 
By afternoon w T e were a mere shipful of lunatical persons, 
throwing of things overboard, howling of different songs at 
the same time, quarreling and falling together and then for- 
getting our quarrels to embrace. Ballantrae had bidden me 
drink nothing and feign drunkenness as I valued my life; and 
1 have never passed a day so wearisomely, lying the best part 
of the time upon the forecastle and watching the swamps and 
thickets by which our little basin was entirely surrounded for 
the eye. A little after dusk, Ballantrae stumbled up to 
my side, feigned to fall, with a drunken laugh, and before 
he got his feet again, whispered to me to “ reel down into the 
cabin and seem to fall asleep upon a locker, for there would 
be need of me soon." I did as I was told, and coming into 
the cabin, where it was quite dark, let myself fall on the first 
locker. There was a man there already: by the way he stirred 
and threw me off, 1 could not think he was much in liquor; 
and yet when I had found another place, he seemed to con- 
tinue to sleep on. My heart now beat very hard, for I saw 


40 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


some desperate matter was in act. Presently down came Bal- 
lantrae, lighted the lamp, looked about the cabin, nodded as 
if pleased, and on deck again without a word. I peered out 
from between my fingers, and saw there were three of us slum- 
bering, or feigning to slumber, on the lockers: myself, one 
Dutton and one Grady, both resolute men. On deck the rest 
were got to a pitch of revelry quite beyond the bounds of what 
is human; so that no reasonable name can describe the sounds 
they were now making. 1 have heard many a drunken bout 
in my time, many on board that very “ Sarah,” but never 
anything the least like this, which made me early suppose the 
liquor had been tampered with. It was a long while before 
these yells and howls died out into a sort of miserable moan- 
ing, and then to silence; and it seemed a long while after that, 
before Ballantrae came down again, this time with Teach 
upon his heels. The latter cursed at the sight of us three 
upon the lockers. 

' “ Tut,” says Ballantrae, “ you might fire a pistol at their 
ears. You know what stuff they have been swallowing.” 

There was a hatch in the cabin floor, and under that the 
richest part of the booty was stored against the day of divis- 
ion. It fastened with a ring and three padlocks, the keys 
(for greater security) being divided; one to Teach, one to Bal- 
lantrae, and one to the mate, a man called Hammond. Yet 
I was amazed to see they were now ail in the one hand; and 
yet more amazed (still looking through my fingers) to observe 
Ballantrae and Teach bring up several packets, four of them 
in all, very carefully made up and with a loop for carriage. 

“ And now,” says Teach, “ let us be going.” 

“ One word,” says Ballantrae, “ 1 have discovered there is 
another man besides yourself who knows a private path across 
the swamp. And it seems it is shorter than yours.” 

Teach cried out in that case they were undone. 

“ I do not know that,” says Ballantrae. “ For there are 
several other circumstances with which I must acquaint you. 
First of all, there is no bullet in your pistols, which (if you re- 
member) I was kind enough to load for both of us this morn- 
ing. Secondly, as there is some one else who knows a passage, 
you must think it highly improbable I should saddle myself 
with a lunatic like you. Thirdly, these gentlemen (who need 
no longer pretend to be asleep) are those of my party, and will 
now proceed to gag and bind you to the mast; and when your 
men awaken (if they ever do awake after the drugs we have 
mingled in their liquor) I am sure they will be so obliging as 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 41 

to deliver you, and you will have no difficulty, I dare say, to 
explain the business of the keys.” 

Not a word said Teach, but looked at us like a frightened 
baby, as we gagged and bound him. 

“ Now you see, you moon-calf,” says Ballantrae, “ why we 
make four packets. Heretofore you have been called Captain 
Teach, but 1 think you are now rather Captain Learn. ” 

That was our last word on board the “ Sarah,” we four 
with our four packets lowered ourselves softly into a skiff, and 
left that ship behind us as silent as the grave, only for the 
moaning of some of the drunkards. There was a fog about 
breast-high on the waters; so that Dutton, who knew the pas- 
sage, must stand on his feet to direct our rowing; and this, as 
it forced us to row gently, was the means of our deliver- 
ance. 

We were yet but a little way from the ship, when it began to 
come gray, and the birds to fly abroad upon the water. All 
of a sudden Dutton clapped down upon his hams, and whis- 
pered us to be silent for our lives, and hearken. Sure enough, 
we heard a little faint creak of oars upon one hand, and then 
again, and further off, a creak of oars upon the other. It 
was clear we had been sighted yesterday in the morning; 
here were the cruiser’s boats to cut us out; here we were 
defenseless in their very midst. Sure, never were poor 
souls more perilously placed; and as we lay there on our oars, 
praying God the mist might hold, the sweat poured from my 
brow. Presently we heard one of the boats, where we might 
have thrown a biscuit in her. “ Softly, men,” we heard an 
officer whisper; and I marveled they could not hear the drum- 
ming of my heart. 

“Never mind the path,” says Ballantrae, “we must get 
shelter anyhow; let us pull straight ahead for the sides of the 
basin.” 

This we did with the most anxious precaution, rowing, as 
best we could, upon our hands, and steering at a venture in 
the fog, which was (for all that) our only safety. But Heaven 
guided us; we touched ground at a thicket; scrambled ashore 
with our treasure; and having no other way of conceal- 
ment, and the mist beginning already to lighten, hove down 
the skiff and let her sink. We were still but new under 
cover when the sun rose; and at the same time, from the 
midst of the basin, a great shouting of seamen sprung up, and 
we knew the “ Sarah ” was being boarded. I heard afterward 
the officer that took her got great honor; and it’s true the ap- 


42 THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 

proach was creditably managed, but I think he had an easy 
capture when he came to board.* 

I was still blessing the saints for my escape, when 1 became 
aware we were in trouble of another kind. We were here 
landed at random in a vast and dangerous swamp; and how 
to come at the path was a concern of doubt, fatigue, and peril. 
Dutton, indeed, was of opinion we should wait until the ship 
was gone, and fish up the skiff; for any delay would be more 
wise than to go blindly ahead in that morass. One went back 
accordingly to the basin-side and (peering through the thicket) 
saw the fog already quite drunk up and English colors flying 
on the “ Sarah,” but no movement made to get her under 
way. 

Our situation was now very doubtful. The swamp was 
an unhealthful place to linger in; we had been so greedy to 
bring treasures that we had brought but little food; it was 
highly desirable, besides, that we should get clear of the 
neighborhood and into the settlements before the news of the 
capture went abroad; and against all these considerations there 
was only the peril of the passage on the other side. I think it 
not wonderful we decided on the active part. 

It was already blistering hot when we set forth to pass the 
marsh, or rather to strike the path, by compass. Dutton took 
the compass, and one or other of us three carried his propor- 
tion of the treasure; I promise you he kept a sharp eye to his 
rear, for it was like the man's soul that he must trust us with. 
The thicket was as close as a bush; the ground very treacher- 
ous, so that we often sunk in the most terrifying manner, and 
must go round about; the heat, besides, was stifling; the air 
singularly heavy, and the stinging insects abounded in such 
myriads that each of us walked under his own cloud. It has 
often been commented on how much better gentlemen of birth 
endure fatigue than persons of the rabble; so that walking offi- 
cers, who must tramp in the dirt beside their men, shame 
them by their constancy. This was well to be observed in the 
present instance; for here were Ballantrae and I, two gentle- 
men of the highest breeding, on the one hand; and on the 
other, Grady, a common mariner, and a man nearly a giant in 
physical strength. The case of Dutton is not in point, for I 

* Note by Mr. Mackellar.— This Teacli of the “Sarah” must not be 
confused with the celebrated “ Blackbeard.” The dates and facts by 
no means tally. It is possible the second Teach may have at once bor- 
rowed the name and imitated the more excessive part of his manners 
from the first, Even the Master of Ballantrae could make admirers. 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


43 

confess he did as well as any of us.* But as for Grady, he 
began early to lament his case, tailed in the rear, refused to 
- carry Dutton's packet when it came his turn, clamored con- 
tinually for rum (of which we had too little) and at last even 
threatened us from behind with a cocked pistol, unless we 
should allow him rest. Ballantrae would have fought it out, 
I believe; but I prevailed with him the other way; and we 
made a stop and eat a meal. It seemed to benefit Grady lit- 
tle; he was in the rear again at once, growling and bemoaning 
his lot; and at last, by some carelessness, not having followed 
properly in our tracks, stumbled into a deep part of the 
slough where it was mostly water, gave some very dreadful 
screams, and before we could come to his aid, had sunk along 
with his booty. His fate and above all these screams of his 
appalled us to the soul; yet it was on the whole a fortunate 
circumstance and the means of our deliverance. For it moved 
Dutton to mount into a tree, whence he was able to perceive 
and to show me, who had climbed after him, a high piece of 
the wood which was a landmark for the path. He went for- 
ward the more carelessly, I must suppose; for presently we 
saw him sink a little down, draw up his feet and sink again, 
and so twice. Then he turned his face to us, pretty white. 

“ Lend a hand," said he, “ I am in a bad place." 

“ I don't know about that," says Ballantrae, standing still. 

Dutton broke out into the most violent oaths, sinking a lit- 
tle lower as he did, so that the mud was nearly to his waist; 
and plucking a pistol from his belt, “ Help me," he cries, 
“ or die and be damned to you!" 

“ Nay," says Ballantrae, “ I did but jest. 1 am coming." 
And he set down his own packet and Dutton's, which he was 
then carrying. “ Do not venture near till we see if you are 
needed," said he to me, and went forward alone to where the 
man was bogged. He was quiet now, though he still held the 
pistol; and the marks of terror in his countenance were very 
moving to behold. 

“ For the Lord's sake," says he, “ look sharp." 

Ballantrae was now got close up. “ Keep still," says he, 
and seemed to consider; and then “ Reach out both your 
hands!" 

Dutton laid down his pistol, and so watery was the top sur- 
face, that it went clear out of sight; with an oath he stooped 


* Note by Mr. MacJcellar.-A.ndi is not this the whole explanation? 
since this Dutton, exactly like the officers, enjoyed the stimulus of some 
responsibility. 


44 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


to snatch it; and as he did so, Ballantrae., leaned forth and 
stabbed him between the shoulders. Up went his hands over 
his head, I know not whether with the pain or to ward him- 
self, and the next moment he doubled forward in the mud. 

Ballantrae was already over the ankles, but he plucked him- 
self out and came back to me, where I stood with my knees 
smiting one another. “ The devil take you, Francis!” says 
he. “I believe you are a half-hearted fellow after all. I 
have only done justice on a pirate. And here we are quite 
clear of the ‘ Sarah *! Who shall now say that we have dipped 
our hands in any irregularities?** 

I assured him he did me injustice; but my sense of human- 
ity was so much affected by the horridness of the fact that I 
could scarce find breath to answer with. 

“ Come,** said he, “ you must be mo're resolved. The need 
for this fellow ceased when he had shown you where the path 
ran; and you can not deny I would have been daft to let slip 
so fair an opportunity.** 

I could not deny but he was right in principle; nor yet 
could I refrain from shedding tears, of which I think no man 
of valor need have been ashamed; and it was not until I had 
a share of the rum that 1 was able to proceed. I repeat I am 
far from ashamed of my generous emotion; mercy is honorable 
in the warrior; and yet I can not altogether censure Ballantrae, 
whose step was really fortunate, as we struck the path with- 
out further misadventure, and the same night, about sundown, 
came to the edge of the morass. 

We were too weary to seek far; on some dry sands, still 
warm with the day*s sun, and close under a wood of pines, we 
lay down and were instantly plunged in sleep. 

We awaked the next morning very early, and began with a 
sullen spirit a conversation that came near to end in blows. 
We were now cast on shore in the southern provinces, thou- 
sands of miles from any French settlement; a dreadful journey 
and a thousand perils lay in front of us; and sure, if there 
was ever need for amity, it was in such an hour. I must sup- 
pose that Ballantrae had suffered in his sense of w r hat is truly 
polite; indeed, and there is nothing strange in the idea, after 
the sea-wolves we had consorted with so long; and as for my- 
self he fubbed me off unhandsomely, and any gentleman would 
have resented his behavior. 

I told him in what light I saw his conduct: he walked a lit- 
tle off, I following to upbraid him; and at last he stopped me 
with his hand. 

“Frank,** says he, “you know what we swore; and yet 


THE MASTER OE BALLAHTRAE. 


45 


there is no oath invented would induce me to swallow such ex- 
pressions, if I did not regard you with sincere affection. It is 
impossible you should doubt me there: I have given proofs. 
Dutton I had to take, because he knew the pass, and Grady 
because Dutton would not move without him; but what call 
was there to carry you along? You are a perpetual danger to 
me with your cursed Irish tongue. By rights you should now 
be in irons in the cruiser. And you quarrel with me like a 
baby for some trinkets !” 

1 considered this one of the most unhandsome speeches ever 
made; and indeed to this day 1 can scarce reconcile it to my 
notion of a gentleman that was my friend. 1 retorted upon 
him with his Scotch accent, of which he had not so much as 
some, but enough to be very barbarous and disgusting, as I 
told him plainly; and the affair would have gone to a great 
length, but for an alarming intervention. 

We had got some way off upon the sand. The place where 
we had slept, with the packets lying undone and the money 
scattered openly, was now between us and the pines; and it 
was out of these the strange r must have come. There he was 
at least, a great hulking fellow of the country, with a broad-ax 
on his shoulder, looking open-mouthed, now at the treasure 
which was just at his feet, and now at our disputation in which 
we had gone far enough to have weapons in our hands. We 
had no sooner observed him than he found his legs and made 
off again among the pines. 

This was no scene to put our minds at rest; a couple of 
armed men in sea-clothes found quarreling over a treasure, 
not many miles from where a pirate had been captured — here 
was enough to bring the whole country about our ears. The 
quarrel was not even made up; it was blotted from our minds; 
and we got our packets 'together in the twinkling of an eye 
and made off, running with the best will in the world. But 
the trouble was, we did not know in what direction, and must 
continually return upon our steps. Ballantrae had indeed col- 
lected what he could from Dutton; but it ? s hard to travel 
upon hearsay; and the estuary, which spreads into a vast 
irregular harbor, turned us off upon every side with a new 
stretch of water. 

We were near beside ourselves and already quite spent with 
running, when coming to the top of a dune, we saw we were 
again cut off by another ramification of the bay. This was a 
creek, however, very different from those that had arrested us 
before; being set in rocks, and so precipitously deep, that a 
small vessel was able to lie alongside, made fast with a hawser; 


46 


THE MASTER OF BALLASTTRAE. 




and her crew had laid a plank to the shore. Here they had 
lighted a fire and were sitting at their meal. As for the vessel 
herself, she was one of those they build in the Bermudas. 

The love of gold and the great hatred that everybody has to 
pirates were motives of the most influential, and would cer- 
tainly raise the country in our pursuit. Besides, it was now 
plain we were on some sort of straggling peninsula like the 
fingers of a hand; and the wrist, or passage to the mainland, 
which we should have taken at the first, was by this time not 
improbably secured. These considerations put us on a bolder 
counsel. For as long as we dared, looking every moment to 
hear sounds of the chase, we lay among some bushes on the 
top of the dune; and having by this means secured a little 
breath and recomposed our appearance, we strolled down at 
last, with a great affectation of carelessness, to the party by 
the fire. 

It was a trader and his negroes, belonging to Albany in the 
province of New York, and now on the way home from the 
Indies with a cargo; his name I can not recall. We were 
amazed to learn he had put in here from terror of the “ Sarah ;” 
for we had no thought our exploits had been so notorious. As 
soon as the Albanian heard she had been taken the day before, 
he jumped to his feet, gave us a cup of spirits for our good 
news, and sent his negroes to get sail on the Bermudan. On 
our side, we profited by the dram to become more confidential, 
and at last offered ourselves as passengers. He looked askance 
at our tarry clothes and pistols, and replied civilly enough that 
he had scarce accommodation for himself; nor could either 
our prayers or our offers of money, in which we advanced 
pretty far, avail to shake him. 

“I see you think ill of us,” says Ballantrae, “but I will 
show you how well we think of you by telling you the truth. 
We are Jacobite fugitives, and there is a price upon our 
heads. ” 

At this, the Albanian was plainly moved a little. He asked 
us many questions as to the Scotch war, which Ballantrae very 
patiently answered. And then, with a wink, in a vulgar 
manner, “ I guess you and your Prince Charlie got more than 
you cared about,” said he. 

44 Bedad, and that we did,” said I. “ And my dear man, I 
wish you would set a new example and give us just that 
much. ” 

This I said in the Irish way, about which there is allowed to 
be something very engaging. It’s a remarkable thing, and a 
testimony to the love with which our nation is regarded, that 


0 " 1 : . l/ANTRAE. 47 

this address s*. i.rco ever .v in a handsome fellow. 1 can not 
tell how often have ace> private soldier escape the horse, 
or a beggar wht he out a go. alms, by a touch of the brogue. 

And indeed, as sc* n as tl nian had laughed at me I was 

pretty much at rest, Even hi ion, however, he made many 
conditions and (for one . before he 
suffered us aboard, whK -1 ,o oust - !i so that in 

a moment after we wt *e m the e h a good 

breeze and blessing the m i : < ; ace. Al- 
most in the mouth of the user, and 

a little after, the poor “ fc . ; ■ u crew; and 

these were both sights to ma *e. The Bermudan 

seemed a very safe place to be . i, 1 uur bold stroke to have 
been fortunately played, when v\ .ere thus reminded of the 
case of our companions. For all that, we had only exchanged 
traps, jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire, run from 
the yard-arm to the block, and escaped the open hostility of 
the man-of-war to he at the mercy of the doubtful faith of our 
Albanian merchant. 

From many circumstances, it chanced we were safer than 
we could have dared to hope. The town of Albany was at 
that time much concerned in contraband trade across the 
desert with the Indians and the French. This, as it was high- 
ly illegal, relaxed their loyalty, and as it brought them in re- 
lation with the politest people on the earth, divided even their 
sympathies. In short, they were like all the smugglers in the 
world, spies and agents ready-made for either party. Our 
Albanian, besides, was a very honest man indeed, and very 
greedy; and to crown our luck, he conceived a great delight 
in our society. Before we had reached the town of'New York, 
we had come to a full agreement; that he should carry us as 
far as Albany upon his ship, and thence put us on a way to 
pass the boundaries and join the French. For all this we 
were to pay at a high rate; but beggars can not be choosers, 
nor outlaws bargainers. 

We sailed, then, up the Hudson River which, I protest, is a 
very fine stream, and put up at the King's Arms in Albany. 
The town was full of the militia of the province, breathing 
slaughter against the French. Governor Clinton was there 
himself, a very busy man, and, by what I could learn, very 
near distracted by the factiousness of his Assembly. The In- 
dians on both sides were on the war-path; we saw parties of 
them bringing in prisoners and (what was much worse) scalps, 
both male and female, for which they were paid at a fixed 
rate; and I assure you the sight was not encouraging. Alto- 


48 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE* 

gether we could scarce have come at a period more unsuitable 
for our designs; our position in the chief inn w&s dreadfully 
conspicuous; our Albanian fubbed us off with a thousand de- 
lays and seemed upon the point of a retreat from his engage- 
ments; nothing but peril appeared to environ the ppor fugi- 
tives; and for some time we drowned our concern in a very 
irregular course of living. 

This too proved to be fortunate; and it's one of the remarks 
that fall to be made upon our escape, how providentially our 
steps were conducted to the very end. What a humiliation to 
the dignity of man! My philosophy, the extraordinary genius 
of Bailantrae, our valor, in which I grant that we were equal 
— all these might have proved insufficient without the Divine 
blessing on our efforts. And how true it is, as the Church 
tells us, that the truths of religion are after all quite applicable 
even to daily affairs! At least it was in the course of our 
revelry that we made the acquaintance of a spirited youth by 
the name of Chew. He was one of the most daring of the 
Indian traders, very well acquainted with the secret paths of 
the wilderness, needy, dissolute, and by a last good fortune, 
in some disgrace with his family. Him we persuaded to come 
to our relief; he privately provided what was needful for our 
flight; and one day we slipped out of Albany, without a word 
to our former friend, and embarked, a little above, in a canoe. 

To the toils and perils of this journey, it would require a 
pen more elegant than mine to do full justice. The reader 
must conceive for himself the dreadful wilderness which we 
had now to thread; its thickets, swamps, precipitous rocks, 
impetuous rivers, and amazing water-falls. Among these bar- 
barous scenes, we must toil all day, now paddling, now carry- 
ing our canoe upon our shoulders; and at night we slept about 
a fire, surrounded by the howling of wolves and other savage 
animals. It was our design to mount the head-waters of the 
Hudson, to the neighborhood of Crown Point,, where the 
French had a strong place in the wood’s, upon Lake Cham- 
plain. But to have done this directly were too perilous; and 
it was accordingly gone upon by such a labyrinth of rivers, 
lakes, and portages as makes my head giddy to remember. 
These paths were in ordinary times entirely desert; but the 
country was now up, the tribes on the war-path, the woods 
full of Indian scouts. Again and again we came upon these 
parties, when we least expected them; and one day, in par- 
ticular, I shall never forget; how, as dawn was coming in, we 
were suddenly surrounded by five or six of these painted 
devils, uttering a very dreary sort of cry and brandishing their 


^HE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


49 


hal I » assed off harmlessly indeed, as did the rest of 

ou] o : ■ for Chew was well known and highly valued 

am h u ; ' rent tribes. Indeed, he was a very gallant, re- 

spe : : ■ young man. But even with the advantage of his 
cor pai.-iomhip, you must not think these meetings were with- 
out ' , ril. To prove friendship on our part, it was 

nee t . • upon our stock of rum — indeed, under what- 
ever disguise, tnat is the true business of the Indian trader, to 
keep a traveling public-house in the forest; and when once 
the braves had got their bottle of scaura (as they call this 
beastly liquor) it behooved us to set forth and paddle for our 
scalps. Once they were a little drunk, good-bye to any sense 
or decency;' they had but the one thought, to get more scaura; 
they might easily take it in their heads to give us chase; and 
had we been overtaken, I had never written these memoirs. 

We were come to the most critical portion of our course, 
where we might equally expect to fall into the hands of French 
or English, when a terrible calamity befell us. Chew was 
taken suddenly sick with symptoms like those of poison, and 
in the course of a few hours expired in the bottom of the 
canoe. We thus lost at once our guide, our interpreter, our 
boatman and our passport, for he was all these in one; and 
found ourselves reduced, at a blow, to the most desperate and 
irremediable distress. Chew, who took a great pride in his 
knowledge, had indeed often lectured us on the geography; 
and Ballantrae, I believe, would listen. But for my part I 
have always found such information highly tedious; and be- 
yond the fact that we were now in the country of the Adiron- 
dack Indians, and not so distant from our destination, could 
we but have found the way, I was entirely ignorant. The 
wisdom of my course was soon the more apparent; for with all 
his pains, Ballantrae was no further advanced than myself. 
He knew we must continue to go up one stream; then, byway 
of a portage, down another; and then up a third. But you 
are to consider, in a mountain country, how many streams 
come rolling in from every hand. And how is a gentleman, 
who is a perfect stranger in that part of the world, to tell any 
one of them from any other? Nor was this our only trouble. 
We were great novices, besides, in handling a^ canoe; the port- 
ages were almost beyond our strength, so that I have seen us 
sit down in despair for half an hour at a time without one 
word; and the appearance of a single Indian, since we had 
now no means of speaking to them, would have been in all 
probability the means of our destruction. There is altogether 
some excuse if Ballantrae showed something of a glooming 


■ ■ m « 

50 • THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

disposition; his habit of imputing blame to others, quite as 
capable as himself, was less tolerable, and his language it was 
not always easy to accept. Indeed, he had contracted on board 
the pirate ship a manner of address which was in a high degree 
unusual between gentlemen; and now, when you might say he 
was in a fever, it increased upon him hugely. 

The third day of these wanderings, as we were carrying the 
canoe upon a rocky portage, she fell and was entirely bilged. 
The portage was between two lakes, both pretty extensive; the 
track, such as it was, opened at both ends upon the water, and 
on both hands was inclosed by the unbroken woods; and the 
sides of the lakes were quite impassable with bog; so that we 
beheld ourselves not only condemned to go without our boat 
and the greater part of our provisions, but to plunge at once 
into impenetrable thickets and to desert what little guidance 
we still had — the course of the river. Each stuck his pistols 
in his belt, shouldered an ax, made a pack of his treasure and 
as much food as he could stagger under, and deserting the rest 
of our possessions, even to our swords, which would have much 
embarrassed us among the woods, we set forth on this deplora- 
ble adventure. The labors of Hercules, so finely described by 
Homer, were a trifle to what we now underwent. Some parts 
of the forest were perfectly dense down to the ground, so that 
we must cut our way like mites in a cheese. In some the 
bottom was full of deep swamp, and the whole wood entirely 
rotten. I have leaped on a great fallen log and sunk to the 
knees in touchwood; I have sought to stay myself, in falling, 
against what looked to be a solid trunk, and the whole thing 
has whiffed away at my touch like a sheet of paper. Stum- 
bling, falling, bogging to the knees, hewing our way, our eyes 
almost put out w r ith twigs and branches, our clothes plucked 
from our bodies, we labored all day, and it is doubtful if we 
made two miles. What was worse, as we could rarely get a 
view of the country and were perpetually justled from our 
path by obstacles, it was impossible even to have a guess in 
what direction we were moving. 

A little before sundown, in an open place with a stream and 
set about with barbarous mountains, Ballantrae threw down 
his pack. “ I will go no further,” said he, and bade me light 
the fire, damning my blood in terms not proper for a chair- 
man. 

I told him to try to forget he had ever been a pirate, and to 
remember he had been a gentleman. 

“ Are you mad?” he cried.. “ Don’t cross me here!” 
And then, shaking his fist at the hills, “ To think,” cries he. 


THE MASTEK OF BALLANTRAE. 


51 


“ that I must leave my bones in this miserable wilderness! 
Would God I had died upon the scaffold like a gentleman !” 
This he said ranting like an actor; and then sat biting his fin- 
gers and staring on the ground, a most unchristian object. 

I took a certain horror of the man, for I thought a soldier 
and a gentleman should confront his end with more philosophy. 
I made him no reply, therefore, in words; and presently the 
evening fell so chill that I was glad, for my own sake, to 
kindle a fire. And yet God knows, in such an open spot, and 
the country alive with savages, the act was little short of 
lunacy. Ballantrae seemed never to observe me; but at last, 
as 1 was about parching a little corn, he looked up. 

“ Have you ever a brother:” said he. 

“ By the blessing of Heaven,” said I, “not less than five.” 

“ I have the one,” said he, with a strange voice; and then 
presently, “He shall pay me for all this,” he added. And 
when 1 asked him what was his brother’s part in our distress, 
“ What!” he cried, “ he sits in my place, he bears my name, 
he courts my wife; and 1 am here alone with a damned Irish- 
man in this tooth-chattering desert! Oh, I have been a com- 
mon gull!” he cried. 

The explosion was in all ways so foreign to my friend’s 
nature, that 1 was daunted out of all my just susceptibility. 
Sure, an offensive expression, however vivacious, appears a 
wonderfully small affair in circumstances so extreme! But 
here there is a strange thing to be noted. He had only once 
before referred to the lady with whom he was contracted. 
That was when we came in view of the town of New York, 
when he had told me, if all had their rights, he was now in 
sight of his own property, for Miss Graeme enjoyed a large 
estate in the province. And this was certainly a natural occa- 
sion; but now here she was named a second time; and what is 
surely fit to be ’observed, in this very month, which was 
November, ’47, and I believe upon that very day, as ive sat 
among those barbarous mountains , his brother and Miss 
Graeme were married. 1 am the least superstitious of men; 
but the hand of Providence is here displayed too openly' not to 
be remarked.* 

The next day, and the next, were passed in similar labors; 
Ballantrae often deciding on our course by the spinning of a 
coin; and once, when I expostulated on this childishness, he 
had an odd remark that I have never forgotten. “ I know no 

* Note by Mr. MackeUar.—N complete blunder: there was at this date 
no word of the marriage : see above in my own narration. 


52 


THE MASTER OE BALLAHTRAE. 


better way,” said he, “ to express my scorn of human reason.” 
I think it was the third day, that we found the body of a 
Christian, scalped and most abominably mangled, and lying in 
a pudder of his blood, the birds of the desert screaming over 
him, as thick as flies. I can not describe how dreadully this 
sight affected us; but it robbed me of all strength and all hope 
for this world. The same day, and only a little after, we were 
scrambling over a part of the forest that had been burned, 
when Balkan trae, who 'was a little ahead, ducked suddenly be- 
hind a fallen trunk. I joined him in this shelter, whence we 
could look abroad without being seen ourselves; andTn the 
bottom of the next vale, beheld a large war party of the 
savages going by across our line. There might be the value 
of a weak battalion present; all naked to the waist, blacked 
with grease and suet, and painted with white lead and ver- 
milion, according to their beastly habits. They went one be- 
hind another like a string of geese, and at a quickish trot; so 
that they took but a little while to rattle by and disappear 
again among the woods. Yet I suppose we endured a greater 
agony of hesitation and suspense in these few minutes than 
goes usually to a man’s whole life. Whether they were French 
or English Indians, whether they desired scalps or prisoners, 
whether we should declare ourselves upon the chance or lie 
quiet and continue the heart-breaking business of our journey: 
sure, I think, these were questions to have puzzled the brains 
of Aristotle himself. Ballantrae turned to me with a face all 
wrinkled up and his teeth showing in his mouth, like that I 
have read of people starving; he said no word, but his whole 
appearance was a kind of dreadful question: 

/ They may be of the English side,” 1 whispered; “ and 
think! the best we could then hope, is to begin this over 
again.”- 

“I know, I know,” he said. “ Yet it must come to a 
plunge at- last.” And he suddenly plucked out his coin, 
shook it in his closed hands, looked at it, and then lay down 
with his face in the dust. 

. Addition ly Mr. Mackellar. — 1 drop the chevalier’s narra- 
tion at this point because the couple quarreled and separated 
the same. day; and the chevalier’s account of the quarrel seems 
to me (I must confess) quite incompatible with the nature of 
either of the men. Henceforth, they wandered alone, under- 
going extraordinary sufferings; until first one and then the 
other was picked up by a party from Fork St. Frederick. 
Only two things are to be noted. And first (as most im- 


THE MASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 


53 


portant for my purpose) that the master, in the course of his 
miseries buried his treasure, at a point never since discovered, 
but of which he took a drawing in his own blood on the lining 
of his hat. And second, that on his coming thus penniless to 
the fort, he was welcomed like a brother by the chevalier, who 
thence paid his way to France. The simplicity of Mr. Burke’s 
character leads him at this point to praise the master exceed- 
ingly; to an eye more worldly wise, it would seem it was the 
chevalier alone that was to be commended. I have the more 
pleasure in pointing to this really very noble trait of my 
esteemed correspondent, as I fear I may have wounded him 
immediately before. I have refrained from comments on any 
of his extraordinary and (in my eyes) immoral opinions, for I 
know him to be jealous of respect. But his version of the 
quarrel is really more than 1 can reproduce; for I knew the 
master myself, and a man more insusceptible of fear is not 
conceivable. I regret this oversight of the chevalier’s, and all 
the more because the tenor of his narrative (set aside a few 
flourishes) strikes me as highly ingenuous. 


PERSECUTIONS ENDURED BY MR. HENRY. 

You can guess on what part of his adventures the colonel 
principally dwelt. Indeed, if we had heard it all, it is 
to be thought the current of this business had been wholly 
altered; but the pirate ship was very gently touched upon. 
Nor did I hear the colonel to an end even of that which 
he was willing to disclose; for Mr. Henry, having for some 
while been* plunged in a brown study, rose at last from 
his seat and (reminding the colonel there were matters- that he 
must attend to) bade me follow him immediately to the office. 

Once there, he sought no longer to dissemble his concern, 
walking to and fro in the room with a contorted face, and 
passing his hand repeatedly upon his brow. 

“ We have some business,” he began at last; and there 
broke off, declared we must have wine, and sent for a magnum 
of the best. This was extremely foreign to his habitudes; and 
what was still more so, when the wine had come, he gulped 
down one glass upon another like a man careless of appear- 
ances. But the drink steadied him. 

“ You will scarce be surprised, Mackellar,” says he, “ when 
I tell you that my brother (whose safety we are all rejoiced to 
learn) stands in some need of money. ” 

I told him I had misdoubted as much; but the time was not 
very fortunate as the stock was low. 


54 


THE MASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 


“Not mine,” said he. “ There is the money for the mort- 
gage.” 

I reminded him it was Mrs. Henry’s. 

“ I will be answerable to my wife,” he cried, violently. 

“ And then,” said I, “ there is the mortgage.” 

“ I know,” said he, “ it is on that I would consult you.” 

I showed him how unfortunate a time it was to divert this 
money from its destination; and how by so doing we must lose 
the profit of our past economies, and plunge back the estate 
into the mire. I even took the liberty to plead with him; and 
when he still opposed me with a shake of the head and a bitter 
dogged smile, my zeal quite carried me beyond my place. 
“ This is midsummer madness,” cried I; “ and I for one will 
be no party to it. ’ 9 

“You speak as though I did it for my pleasure,” says he. 
“ Hut I have a child now; and besides I love order; and to say 
the honest truth, Mackellar, I had begun to take a pride in 
the estates.” He gloomed for a moment. “ But what would 
you have?” he went on. “ Nothing is mine, nothing. This 
day’s news has knocked the bottom out of my life. I have 
only the name and the shadow of things; only the shad- 
ow; there is no substance in my rights.” 

“ They will prove substantial enough before a court,” 
said I. 

He looked at me with a burning eye, and seemed to repress 
the word upon his lips; and I repented what I had said, for I 
saw that while he spoke of the estate he had still a side- 
thought to his marriage. And then, of a sudden, he twitched 
the letter from his pocket, where it lay all crumpled, smoothed 
it violently on the table, and read these words to me with a 
trembling tongue. “ ‘ My dear Jacob ’ — This is how he be- 
gins!” cries he— f My dear Jacob, I once called you so, you 
may remember; "and you have now done the business, and 
flung my heels as high as C riff el. ’ What do you think of 
that; Mackellar,” says he, “ from an only brother? I declare 
to God I liked him very well; I was always stanch to him; 
and this is how he writes! But I will not sit down under the 
imputation ” — (walking to and fro) — “ I am as good as he, I 
am a better man than he, I call on God to prove it! I can 
not give him all the monstrous sum he asks; he knows the 
estate to be incompetent; but 1 will give him what I have, 
and it is more than he expects. I have borne all this too 
long. See what he writes further on; read it for yourself: 4 1 
know you are a niggardly dog.’ A niggardly dog! I, nig- 
gardly? Is that true, Mackellar? You think it is?” I really 


THE MASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 


55 


thought he would have struck me at that. “ Oh, you all 
think so! Well, you shall see, and he shall see, and God shall 
see. If 1 ruin the estate and go barefoot, I shall stuff this 
bloodsucker. Let him ask all — all, and he shall have it! It 
is all his by rights. Ah!” he cried, “ and 1 foresaw all this 
and worse, when he would not let me go.” He poured out 
another glass of wine and was about to carry it to his lips, 
when I made so bold as lay a finger on his arm. He stopped 
a moment. “You are right,” said he, and flung glass and 
all in the fire-place. “ Come, let us count the money.” 

I durst no longer oppose him; indeed, 1 was very much 
affected by the sight of so much disorder in a man usually so 
controlled; and we sat down together, counted the money, and 
made it up in packets for the greater ease of Colonel Burke, 
who was to be the bearer. This done, Mr. Henry returned to 
the hall, where he and my old lord sat all night through with 
their guest. 

A little before dawn I was called and set out with the 
colonel. He would scarce have liked a less responsible con- 
voy, for he was a man who valued himself; nor could we 
afford him one more dignified, for Mr. Henry must not appear 
with the free-traders. It was a very bitter morning of wind, 
and as we went down through the long shrubbery, the colonel 
held himself muffled in his cloak. 

“ Sir,” said I, “ this is a great sum of money that your 
friend requires. I must suppose his necessities to be very 
great. ” 

“We must suppose so,” says he, 1 thought dryly, but per- 
haps it was the cloak about his mouth. 

“Iam only a servant of the family,” said I. “You may 
deal openly wtih me. I think we are likely to get little good 
by him?” 

“ My dear man,” said the colonel, “ Ballantrae is a gentle- 
man of the most eminent natural abilities, and a man that I 
admire and that I revere, to the very ground he treads on.” 
And then he seemed to me to pause like one in a difficulty. 

“But for all that',” said I, “we are likely to get little good 
by him?” 

“ Sure, and you can have it your own way, my dear man,” 
says the colonel. 

By this time we had come to the side of the creek, where 
the boat awaited him. “ Well,” said he, “ 1 am sure I am 
very much your debtor for all your civility, Mr. Whatever- 
your-name-is; and just as a last word, and since you show so 
much intelligent interest, I. will mention a small circumstance 


56 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

that may be of use to the family. For I believe my friend 
omitted to mention that he has the largest pension on the 
Scots Fund of any refugee in Paris; and it’s the more disgrace- 
ful, sir,” cries the colonel, warming, 44 because there's not one 
dirty penny for myself. '' 

He cocked his hat at me, ‘as if I had been to blame for this 
partiality; then changed again into his usual swaggering civil- 
ity, shook me by the hand, and set off down to the boat, with 
the money under his arms, and whistling as he went the 
pathetic air of 4 4 Shule Aroon.'' It was the first time I had 
heard that tune; I was to hear it again, words and all, as you 
shall learn; but I remember how that little stave of it ran in 
my head, after the free-traders had bade him 44 Wheesht, in 
the deil's name,” and the grating of the oars had taken its 
place, and I stood and watched the dawn creeping on the sea, 
and the boat drawing away, and the lugger lying with her 
foresail backed awaiting it. 

The gap made in our money was a sore embarrassment; and 
among other consequences, it had this: that I must ride to 
Edinburgh, and there raise a new loan on very questionable 
terms to keep the old afloat; and was thus, for close upon 
three weeks, absent from the house of Durrisdeer. 

What passed in the interval, I had none to tell me; but I 
found Mrs. Henry, upon my return, much changed in her 
demeanor; the old talks with my lord for the most part preter- 
mitted; a certain deprecation visible toward her husband, to 
whom 1 thought she addressed herself more often; and for one 
thing, she was now greatly wrapped up in Miss Katharine. 
You would think the change was agreeable to Mr. Henry! no 
such matter! To the contrary, every circumstance of altera- 
tion was a stab to him; he read in each the avowal of her 
truant fancies: that constancy to the master of which she 
was proud while she supposed him dead, she had to blush for 
now she knew he was alive: and these blushes were the hated 
spring of her new conduct. I am to conceal no truth; and 1 
will here say plainly, 1 think this w T as the period in which Mr. 
Henry showed the worst. He contained himself, indeed, in 
public; but there was a deep-seated irritation visible under- 
neath. With me, from whom he had less concealment, he 
was often grossly unjust; and even for his wife, he would 
sometimes have a sharp retort: perhaps when she had ruffled 
him with some unwonted kindness; perhaps upon no tangible 
occasion, the mere habitual tenor of the man's annoyance 
bursting spontaneously forth. Whei\ he would thus forget 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


57 


himself (a thing so strangely out of keeping with the terms of 
their relation), there went a shock through the whole com- 
pany; and the pair would look upon each other in a kind of 
pained amazement. 

All the time too, while he was injuring himself by this de- 
fect of temper, he was hurting his position by a silence, of 
which I scarce know whether to say it was the child of gener- 
osity or pride. The free-traders came again and again, bring- 
ing messengers from the master, and none departed empty- 
handed. I never durst reason with Mr. Henry; he gave what 
was asked of him in a kind of noble rage. Perhaps because 
he knew he was by nature inclining to the parsimonious, he 
took a back-foremost pleasure in the recklessness with which 
he supplied his brother's exigence. Perhaps the falsity of the 
position would have spurred an humbler man into the same 
excesses. But the estate (if 1 may say so) groaned under it; 
our daily expenses were shown lower and lower; the stables 
were emptied, all but four roadsters; servants were discharged, 
which raised a dreadful murmuring in the country and heated 
up the old disfavor upon Mr. Henry; and at last the yearly 
visit to Edinburgh must be discontinued. 

This was in 1756. You are to suppose that for seven years 
this bloodsucker had been drawing the life's blood from Dur- 
risdeer; and that all this time my patron had held his peace. 
It was an effect of devilish malice in the master, that he ad- 
dressed Mr. Henry alone upon the matter of his demands; and 
there was never a word to my lord. The family had looked 
on wondering at our economies. They had lamented, I have 
no doubt, that my patron had become so great a miser; a fault 
always despicable, but in the young abhorrent; and Mr. Henry 
was not yet thirty years of age. Still he had managed the 
business of Durrisdeer almost from a boy; and they bore with 
these changes in a silence as proud and bitter as his own, until 
the coping stone of the Edinburgh visit. 

At this time, I believe my patron and his wife were rarely 
together save at meals. Immediately on the back of Colonel 
Burke's announcemet, Mrs. Henry made palpable advances; 
you might say she had laid a sort of timid court to her hus- 
band, different indeed from her former manner of unconcern 
and distance. I never had the heart to blame Mr. Henry be- 
cause he recoiled from these advances; nor yet to censure the 
wife, when she was cut to the quick by their rejection. But 
the result was an entire estrangement, so that (as I say) they 
rarely spoke .except at meals. Even the matter of the Edin- 
burgh visit was first broached at table; and it chanced that 


58 the master of ballantrae. 

Mrs. Henry was that day ailing and querulous. She had no 
sooner understood her husband’s meaning than the red flew 
in her face. 

“ At last,” she cried, “ this is too much! Heaven knows 
what pleasure I have in my life, that I should be denied my 
only consolation. These shameful proclivities must be trod 
down; we are already a mark and an eye-sore in the neighbor- 
hood; I will not endure this fresh insanity.” 

“ I can not aflord it,” says Mr. Henry. 

“ Afford?” she cried. “ For shame! But I have money of 
my own.” 

“ That is all mine, madame, by marriage,” he snarled, and 
instantly left the room. 

My old lord threw up his hands to heaven, and he and his 
daughter, withdrawing to the chimney, gave me a broad hint 
to be gone. I found Mr. Henry in his usual retreat, the 
steward’s room, perched on the end of the table and plunging 
his penknife in it, with a very ugly countenance. 

“ Mr. Henry,” said I, “ you do yourself too much injustice; 
and it is time this should cease.” 

“Oh!” cries he, “ nobody minds here. They think it only 
natural. I have shameful proclivities. I am a niggardly 
dog,” and he drove his knife up to the hilt. “ But I will 
show that fellow,” he cried, with an oath, “1 will show him 
whieh is the more generous.” 

“ This is no generosity,” said 1, “ this is only pride.” 

“ Do you think I want morality?” he asked. 

. 1 thought he wanted help, and I should give it him, willy- 
nilly; and no sooner was Mrs. Henry gone to her room, than 
I presented myself at her door and sought admittance. 

She openly showed her wonder. “ What do you- want with 
me, Mr. Mackellar?” said she. 

“ The Lord knows, madame,” says I, “I have never 
troubled you before with any freedoms; but this thing lies too 
hard upon my conscience, and it will out. Is it possible that 
two people can be so blind as you and my lord? and have 
lived all these years with a noble gentleman like Mr. Henry, 
and understand so little of his nature?” 

“ What does this mean?” she cried. 

“Do you not know where his money goes to? his — and 
yours and the money for the very wine he does not drink at 
table?” I went on. “ To Paris— to that man! Eight thou- 
sand pounds has he had of us in seven years, and my patron 
fool enough to keep it secret!” 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


59 


“ Eight thousand pounds!” she repeated. 44 It is impossi- 
ble, the estate is not sufficient.” 

44 God knows how we have sweated farthings to produce it,” 
said I. 44 But eight thousand and sixty is the sum, beside odd 
shillings. And if you can think my patron miserly after that,' 
this shall be my last interference.” 

44 You need say no more, Mr. Mackellar,” said she. 44 You 
have done most properly in what you too modestly call your 
interference. I am much to blame; you must think me in- 
deed a very unobservant wife ” — (looking upon me with a 
strange smile) — 4 4 but I shall put this right at once. The 
master was always of a very thoughtless nature; but his heart 
is excellent; he is the soul of generosity. I shall write to him 
myself. You can not think how you have pained me by this 
communication. ” 

44 Indeed, madame, I had hoped to have pleased you,” said 
I, for I raged to see her still thinking of the master. 

44 And pleased,” said she, 44 and pleased me of course.” 

That same day (1 will not say but what I watched) I had 
the satisfaction to see Mr. Henry come from his wife's room 
in a state most unlike himself; for his face was all bloated with 
weeping, and yet he seemed to me to walk upon the air. By 
this, I was sure his wife had made him full ameuds for once. 
44 Ah,” thought I, to myself, 44 1 have done a brave stroke this 
day.” 

On the morrow, as I was seated at my books, Mr. Henry 
came in softly behind me, took me by the shoulders and shook 
me in a manner of playfulness. 44 1 find you are a faithless 
fellow after all,” says he; which was his only reference to my 
part, but the tone he spoke in was more to me than any elo- 
quence of protestation. Nor was this all I had effected; for 
when the next messenger came (as he did not long afterward) 
from the master, he got nothing away with him but a letter. 
For some while back, it had been 1 myself who had conducted 
these affairs; Mr. Henry not setting pen to paper, and I only 
in the dryest and most formal terms. But this letter I did 
not even see; it would scarce be pleasant reading, for Mr. 
Henry felt he had his wife behind him for once, and I ob- 
served, on the day it was dispatched, he had a very gratified 
expression. 

Things went better now in the family, though it could scarce 
be pretended they went well. There was now at least no mis- 
conception; there was kindness upon all sides; and 1 believe 
my patron and his wife might again have drawn together, if 
he could but have pocketed his pride, and she forgot (what 


60 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE, 


was the ground of all) her brooding on another man. It is 
wonderful how a private thought leaks out; it is wonderful to 
me now, how we should all have followed the current of her 
sentiments; and though she bore herself quietly, and had a 
very even disposition, yet we should have known whenever 
her fancy ran to Paris. “ And would not any one have thought 
that my disclosure must have rooted up that idol? I think 
there is the devil in women: all these years passed, never a 
sight of the man, little enough kindness to remember (by all 
accounts) even while she had him, the notion of his death in- 
tervening, his heartless rapacity laid bare to her: that all 
should not do, and she must still keep the best place in her 
heart for this accursed fellow, is a thing to make a plain man 
rage. I had never much natural sympathy for the passion of 
love; but this unreason in my patron's wife disgusted me out- 
right with the whole matter. I remember checking a maid, 
because she sung some bairnly kickshaw while my mind was 
thus engaged; and my asperity brought about my ears the 
enmity of all the petticoats about the house; of which I recked 
very little, but it amused Mr. Henry, who rallied me much 
upon our joint unpopularity. It is strange enough (for my 
own mother was certainly one of the salt of the earth and my 
aunt Dickson, who paid my fees at the university a very notable 
woman) but I have never had much toleration for the female 
sex, possibly not much understanding; and being far from a 
bold man, I have ever shunned their company. Not only do 
I see no cause to regret this diffidence in myself, but have in- 
variably remarked the most unhappy consequences follow 
those who were less wise. So much I thought proper to set 
down, lest I show myself unjust to Mrs. Henry. And besides 
the remark arose naturally, on a reperusal of the letter which 
was the next step in these affairs, and reached me to my sin- 
cere astonishment by a private hand, some week or so after 
the departure of the last messenger. 

Letter from Colonel Burke ( afterward Chevalier) to Mr. 
Mackellar. 

“ Troves in Champagne, 

“ July 12, 1756. 

“ My dear Sir, — You will doubtless be surprised to receive 
a communication from one so little known to you; but on the 
occasion I had the good fortune to rencontre you at Durris- 
deer, I remarked you for a young man of a solid gravity of 
character: a qualification which I profess I admire and revere 
next to natural genius or the bold chivalrous spirit of the sol- 


THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 


61 


dier. I was besides interested in the noble family which you 
have the honor 'to serve or (to speak more by the book) to be 
the humble and respected friend of; and a conversation I ha4 
the pleasure to have with you very early in the morning has 
remained much upon my mind. 

“ Being the other day in Paris, on a visit from this famous 
city where I am in garrison, I took occasion to inquire your 
name (which I profess 1 had forgot) at my friend, the master 

of B ; and a fair opportunity occurring, 1 write to inform 

you of what’s new. 

“ The master of B (when we had last some talk of him 

together) was in receipt, as I think I then told you, of a high- 
ly advantageous pension on the Scots Fund. He next received 
a company, and was soon after advanced to a regiment of his 
own. My dear sir, 1 do not offer to explain this circumstance; 
any more than why I myself, who have rid at the right hand of 
princes, should be fubbed off with a pair of colors and sent to 
rot in a hole at the bottom of the province. Accustomed as I 
am to courts, I can not but feel it is no atmosphere for a plain 
soldier; and I could never hope to advance by similar means, 
even could I stoop to the endeavor. But our friend has a 
particular aptitude to succeed by the means of ladies; and if 
all be true that I have heard, he enjoyed a remarkable protec- 
tion. It is like this turned against him; for when I had the 
honor to shake him by the hand, he was but newly released 
from the Bastille where he had been cast on a sealed letter; 
and though now released, has both lost his regiment and his 
pension. My dear sir, the loyalty of a plain Irishman will 
ultimately succeed in the place of craft; as I am sure a gentle- 
man of your probity will agree. 

“ How, sir, the master is a man whose genius I admire be- 
yond expression, and besides he is my friend; but I thought a 
little word of this revolution in his fortunes would not come 
amiss, for in my opinion the man’s desperate. He spoke when 
1 saw him of a trip to India (whither I am myself in some 
hope of accompanying my illustrious countryman, Mr. Lally); 
but for this he would require (as I understood) more money 
than was readily at his command. You may have heard a 
military proverb; that it is a good thing to make a bridge of 
gold to a flying enemy? I trust you will take my meaning; 
and I subscribe myself, with proper respects to my Lord Dur- 
risdeer, to his son, and to the beauteous Mrs. Durie, 

“ My dear sir, 

“ Your obedient humble servant, 

“ Frahcis Burke.” 


62 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


This missive I carried at once to Mr. Henry; and I think 
there was but the one thought between the two of us: that it 
had come a week too late. I made haste to send an answer to 
Colonel Burke, in which I begged him, if he should see the 
master, to assure him his next messenger would be attended 
to. But with all my haste I was not in time to avert what was 
impending; the arrow had been drawn, it must now fly. I 
could almost doubt the power of Providence (and certainly 
His will) to stay the issue of events; and it is a strange thought, 
how niany of us had been storing up the elements of this 
catastrophe, for how long a time, and with how blind an igno- 
rance of what we did. 

From the coming of the colonel’s letter, I had a spy-glass 
in my room, began to drop questions to the tenant folk, and 
as there was no great secrecy observed and the free-trade (in 
our part) went by force as much as stealth, I had soon got 
together a knowledge of the signals in use, and knew pretty 
well to an hour when any messenger might be expected. I ' 
say I questioned the tenants; for with the traders themselves, 
desperate blades that went habitually armed, I could never 
bring myself to meddle willingly. Indeed, by what proved in 
the sequel an unhappy chance, 1 was an object of scorn to 
some of these braggadocios; who had not only gratified me 
with a nickname, but catching me one night upon a by-path 
and being all (as they would have said) somewhat merry, had 
caused me to dance for their diversion. The method em- 
ployed was that of cruelly chipping at my toes with naked 
cutlasses, shouting at the same time “ Square-Toes;” and 
though they did me no bodily mischief, I was none the less 
deplorably affected and was indeed for several days confined to 
my bed: a scandal on the state of Scotland on which no com- 
ment is required. 

It happened on the afternoon of November 7th, in this 
same unfortunate year, that I espied, during my walk, the 
smoke of a beacon fire upon the Muckleross. It was drawing 
near time for my return; but the uneasiness upon my spirits 
was that day so great that 1 must burst through the thickets 
to the edge of what they call the Craig Head. The sun was 
already down, but there was still a broad light in the west, 
which showed me some of the smugglers treading out their 
signal fire upon the Ross, and in the bay the lugger lying with 
her sails b railed up. She was plainly but new come to anchor, 
and yet the skiff was already lowered and pulling for the land- 
ing-place at the end of the long shrubbery. And this I knew 


THE MASTER OF BARLAKTRAE. 63 

could signify but one thing: the coming of a messenger for 
Durrisdeer. 

I laid aside the remainder of my terrors, clambered down 
the brae — a place I had never ventured through before, and 
was hid among the shore-side thickets in time to see the boat 
touch. Captain Crail himself was steering, a thing not usual; 
by his side there sat a passenger; and the men gave way with 
difficulty, being hampered with near upon half a dozen port- 
manteaus, great and small. But the business of landing was 
briskly carried through; and presently the baggage was all 
tumbled on shore, the boat on its return voyage to the lugger, 
and the passenger standing alone upon the point of rock, a tall 
slender figure of a gentleman, habited in black, with a sword 
by his side and a walking-cane upon his wrist. As he so stood, 
he waved the cane to Captain Crail by way of salutation, with 
. something both of grace and mockery that wrote the gesture 
deeply on my mind. 

No sooner was the boat away with my sworn enemies, than 
1 took a sort of half courage, came forth to the margin of the 
thicket, and there halted again, my mind being greatly pulled 
about between natural diffidence and a dark foreboding of the 
truth. Indeed, I might have stood there s withering all night, 
had not the stranger turned, spied me through the mists, 
which were beginning to fall, and waved and cried on me to 
draw near. I did so with a heart like lead. 

“ Here, my good man,” said he, in the English accent, 
“ here are some things for Durrisdeer.” 

I was now near enough to see him, a very handsome figure 
and countenance, swarthy, lean, long, with a quick, alert, 
black look, as of one who was a fighter and accustomed to 
command; upon one cheek he had a mole, not unbecoming; a 
large diamond sparkled on his hand; his clothes, although of 
the one hue, were of a French and foppish design; his ruffles, 
which he wore longer than common, of exquisite lace; and I 
wondered the more to see him in such a guise, when he was 
but newly landed from a dirty smuggling lugger. At the 
same time he had a better look at me, toised me a second time 
sharply, and then smiled. 

“ I wager, my friend,” says he, “ that I know both your 
name and your nickname. I divined these very clothes upon 
your hand of writing, Mr. Mackellar.” 

At these words 1 fell to shaking. 

“ Oh,” says he, 4 4 you need not be afraid of me. I bear no 
malice for your tedious letters; and it is my purpose to em- 
ploy you a good deal. You may call me Mr. Bally: it is the 


64 


THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 


name I have assumed; or rather (since I am addressing so 
great a precision) it is so I have curtailed my own. Come 
now, pick up that and that ” — indicating two of the port- 
manteaus. That will be as much as you ai£ fit to bear, and 
the rest can very well wait. Come, lose no more time, if you 
please.” 

His tone was so cutting that I managed to do as he bade by 
a sort of instinct, my mind being all the time quite lost. Ho 
sooner had 1 picked up the portmanteaus, than he turned his 
back and marched off through the long shrubbery; where it 
began already to be dusk, for the wood is thick-and ever green. 
1 followed behind, loaded almost to the dust, though I profess 
1 was not conscious of the burden; being swallowed up in the 
monstrosity of this return and my mind flying like a weavers 
shuttle. 

On a sudden I set the portmanteaus to the ground and halt- 
ed. He turned and looked back at me. 

“ Well?” said he. 

“You are the master of Ballantrae?” 

“ You will do me the justice to observe,” says he, “ that I 
have made no secret with the astute Mackellar.” 

“ And in the name of God,” cries I, “ what brings you 
here? Go back, while it is yet time.” 

“ 1 thank you,” said he. “ Your master has chosen this 
way, and not I; but since he has made the choice, he (and you 
also) must abide by the result. And now pick up these things 
of mine, which you have set down in a very boggy place,, and 
attend to that which I have made your business.” 

But I had no thought now of obedience; I came straight up 
to him. “If nothing will move you to go back,” said I; 
“ though sure, under all the circumstances, any Christian or 
even any gentleman would scruple to go forward — 99 

“ These are gratifying expressions,” he threw in. 

“If nothing will move you to go back,” I continued, 
“ there are still some decencies to be observed. Wait here 
with your baggage, and I will go forward and prepare your 
family. Your father is an old man; and ” — 1 stumbled — 
“ there are decencies to be observed.” 

“Truly,” said he, “this Mackellar improves upon ac- 
quaintance. But look you here, my man, and understand it 
once for all — you waste your breath upon me, and I go my 
own way with inevitable motion.” 

“ Ah!” says I. “ Is that so? We shall see then!” 

And I turned and took to my heels for Durrisdeer. He 
clutched at me and cried out, angrily, and then I believed I 


THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 


65 


heard him laugh, and then 1 am certain he pursued me for a 
step or two, and (I suppose) desisted. One thing at least is 
sure, that I came but a few minutes later to the door of the 
great house, nearly strangled for the lack of breath, but quite 
alone. Straight up the stair I ran, and burst into the hall, 
and stopped before the family without the power of speech; 
but I must have carried my story in my looks for they rose 
out of their places and stared on me Jike obu: v • 

“ He has come/’ I panted at . 

“ He?” said Mr. Henry. 

“ Himself,” said I. 

“ My son?” cried my lord. “ Imprudent, imprudent hoy! 
Oh, could he not stay where he was safe J ‘ 

Never a word said. Mrs. Henry; nor did 1 look at her, 1 
scarcely knew why. 

“Well,” said Mr. Henry, with a very deep breath, “and 
where is he?” 

“ I left him in the long shrubbery,” said I. 

“ Take me to him,” said he. 

So we went out together, he and I, without another word 
from any one; and in the midst of the graveled plot encoun- 
tered the master strolling up, whistling as he came and beat- 
ing the air with his cane. There was still light enough over- 
head to recognize though not to read a countenance. 

“ Ah, Jacob!” 'says the master. “ So here is Esau back.” 

“ James,” says Mr. Henry, “ for God's sake, call me by my 
name. I will not pretend that I am glad to see you; but I 
would fain make you as welcome as I can in the house of our 
fathers. ” 

“Or in my house? or yours 9" says the master. “ Which 
was you about to say? But this is an old sore, and we need 
not rub it. If you would not share with me in Paris, I hope 
you will yet scarce deny your elder brother a corner of the fire 
at Durrisdeer?” 

“ That is very idle speech,” replied Mr. Henry. “ And 
you understand the power of your position excellently well. ” 

“ Wny, I believe I do,” said the other, with a little laugh. 
And this, though they had never touched hands, was (as we 
may say) the end of the brothel meeting; for at this the 
master turned to me and bade me fetch his baggage. 

1, on my side, turned to Mr. Henry for a confirmation; per- 
haps with some defiance. 

-“ As long as the master is here, Mr. Mackellar, you will 
very much oblige me by regarding his wishes as you would my 
own,” says Mr. Henry. “ We are constantly troubling you; 


66 the master of ballantrae. 

will you be so good as send one of the servants? 7 ' with an ac- 
cent on the word. . _ „ , 

If this speech were anything at all, it was surely a well-de- 
served reproof upon the stranger; and yet, so devilish was his 
impudence, he twisted it the other way. 

v And shall we he common enough to say Sneck up? 
inquires he, softly, looking upon me sideways. 

Had a kingdom depended on the act, I could not have 
trusted myself in words; even to call a servant was beyond me; 
I had rather serve the man myself than speak; and 1 turned 
away in silence and went into the long shrubbery, with a heart 
full of anger and despair. It was dark under the trees, and 1 
walked before me and forgot what business 1 was come upon, 
till I near broke my shin on the portmanteaus. Then it was 
that 1 remarked a strange particular; for whereas I had before 
carried both and scarce observed it, it was now as much as I 
could do to manage one. And this, as it forced me to make 
two journeys, kept me the longer from the hall. 

When I got there the business of welcome was over long 
ago; the company was already at supper; and by an oversight 
that cut me to the quick, my place had been forgotten. 1 
had seen one side of the master's return; now I was to see the 
other. It was he who first remarked my coming in and stand- 
ing back (as I did) in some annoyance. He jumped from his 
seat. 

“ And if I have not got the good Mackellar's place!" cries 
he. “ John, lay another for Mr. Bally; I protest he will dis- 
turb no one, and your table is big enough for all." 

1 could scarce credit my ears, nor yet my senses, when he 
took me by the shoulders and thrust me laughing into my own 
place; such an affectionate playfulness was in his voice. And 
while John laid the fresh place for him (a thing on which he 
still insisted) he went and leaned on his father's chair and 
looked down upon him, and the old man turned about and 
looked upward on his son, with such a pleasant mutual ten- 
derness that I could have carried my hand to my head in mere 
amazement. 

Yet all was of a piece. Never a harsh word fell from him, 
never a sneer showed upon his lip. He had laid aside even his 
cutting English accent, and spoke with the kindly Scots 
tongue that sets a value on affectionate words; and though 
his manners had a graceful elegance mighty foreign to our 
ways in Durrisdeer, it was still a homely courtliness, that did 
not shame but flattered us. All that he did throughout the 
meal, indeed, drinking wine with me with a notable respect. 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 67 

turning about for a pleasant word with John, fondling his fa- 
ther’s hand, breaking into little merry tales of his adventures, 
calling up the past with happy reference — all he did was so be- 
coming, and himself so handsome, that 1 could scarce wonder 
if my lord and Mrs. Henry sat about the board with radiant 
faces, or if John waited behind with dropping tears. 

As soon as supper was over, Mrs. Henry rose to withdraw. 

“ This was never your way, Alison,” said he. 

“It is my way now,” she replied; which was notoriously 
false, “ and I will give you a good-night, James, and a wel- 
come — from the dead, ” said she, and her voice drooped and 
trembled. 

Poor Mr. Henry, who had made rather a heavy figure 
through the meal, was more concerned than ever; pleased to 
see his wife withdraw, and yet half displeased, as he thought * 
upon the cause of it; and the next moment altogether dashed 
by the fervor of her speech. 

On my part, I thought I was now one too many; and was 
stealing after Mrs. Henry, when the master saw me. 

“Now, Mr. Mackellar,” says he, “I take this near on an 
unfriendliness. I can not have you go; this is to make a 
stranger of the prodigal son — and let me remind you where — 
in his own father’s house! Come, sit ye down, and drink an- 
other glass with Mr. Bally. ” 

“ Ay, ay, Mr. Mackellar,” says my lord, “ we must not 
make a stranger either of him or you. I have been telling my 
son,” he added, his voice brightening as usual on the word, 

“ how much we valued all your friendly service.”. 

So I sat there silent till my usual hour; and might have 
been almost deceived in the man’s nature, but for one passage 
in which his perfidy appeared too plain. Here was the pas- 
sage; of which, after what he knows of the brothers’ meeting, 
the reader shall consider for himself, Mr. Henry sitting some- 
what dully, in spite of his best endeavors to carry things before 
my lord, up jumps the master, passes about the board, and 
claps his brother on the shoulder. 

“ Come, come, Hairry lad ,” says he, with a broad accent 
such as they must have used together when they were boys, 
“you must not be downcast because your brother has come 
home. All’s' yours, that’s sure enough, and little I grudge it 
you. Neither must you grudge me my place beside my fa- 
ther’s fire.” 

“ And that is too true, Henry,” says my old lord, with a 
little frown, a thing rare with him. “You have been the 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


elder brother of the parable in the good sense; you must be 
careful of the other. ” 

“ I am easily put in the wrong,” said Mr. Henry. 

“ Who puts you in the wrong?” cried my lord, I thought 
very tartly for so mild a man. “ You have earned my grati- 
tude and your brother's many thousand times; you may count 
on its endurance, and let that suffice.” 

“ Ay, Harry, that you may,” said the master; and I 
thought Mr. Henry looked at him with a kind of wildness in 
his eye. 

On all the miserable business that now followed, 1 have Jour 
questions that I asked myself often at the time and ask myself 
still. Was the man moved by a particular sentiment against 
Mr. Henry? or by what he thought to be his interest? or by a 
mere delight in cruelty such as cats display and theologians 
tell us of the devil? or by what he would have called love? 
My common opinion halts among the three first; but perhaps 
there lay at the spring of his behavior an element of all. As 
thus: Animosity to Mr. Henry would explain his hateful usage 
of him when they were alone; the interests he came to serve 
would explain his very different attitude before my' lord; that 
and some spice of a design of gallantry, his care to stand well 
with Mrs. Henry; and the pleasure of malice for itself, the 
pains he was continually at to mingle and oppose these lines 
of conduct. 

Partly because I was a very open friend to my patron, part- 
ly because in my letters to Paris I had often given myself some ‘ 
freedom of remonstrance, 1 was included in -his diabolical 
amusement. When I was alone with him, he pursued me 
with sneers; before the family, he used me with the extreme 
of friendly condescension. This was not only painful in itself, 
not only did it put me continually in the wrong; but there 
was in it an element of insult indescribable. That he should 
thus leave me out in his dissimulation, as though even my 
testimony were too despicable to be considered, galled me to 
the blood. But what it was to me is not worth notice. 1 
make but memorandum of it here; and chiefly for this rea- 
son, that it had one good result, and gave me the quicker sense 
of Mr. Henry's martyrdom. 

It was on him the burden fell. How was he to respond to 
the public advances of one who never lost a chance of gibing 
him in private? How was he to smile back on the deceiver 
and the insulter? He was condemned to seem ungracious. 
He was condemned to silence. Had he been less proud, had 


THE MASTER OP BALLANTRAE. 


69 


he spoken, who would have credited the truth? The acted 
calumny had done its work; my lord and Mrs. Henry were the 
daily witnesses of what went on; they could have sworn in 
court that the master was a model of long-suffering good-nat- 
ure and Mr. Henry a pattern of jealousy and thanklessness. 
And ugly enough as these must have appeared iu any one, 
they seemed tenfold uglier in Mr. Henry; for who could for- 
get that the master lay in peril of his life, and that he had 
already lost his mistress, his title and his fortune? 

“ Henry, will you ride with me?” asks the master one day. 

And Mr. Henry, who had been goaded by the man all morn- 
ing, raps out: “ I will not.” 

“I sometimes wish you would be kinder, Henry,” says the 
other, wistfully. 

1 give this for a specimen; but such scenes befell continu- 
ally. Small wonder if Mr. Henry was blamed; small wonder 
if I fretted myself into something near upon a bilious fever; 
nay, and at the mere recollection feel a bitterness in my blood. 

Sure, never in this world was a more diabolical contrivance: 
so perfidious, so simple, so impossible to combat. And yet 1 
think again, and I think always, Mrs. Henry might have read 
between the lines; she might have had more knowledge of her 
husband's nature; after all these years of marriage, she might 
have conkuanded or captured his confidence. And my old 
lord too, that very watchful gentleman, where was all his ob- 
servation? But for one thing, the deceit was practiced by a 
master hand, and might have gulled an angel. For another 
(in the case of Mrs. Henry), I have observed there are no per- 
sons so far away as those who are both married and estranged, 
so that they seem out of ear-shot or to have no common tongue. 
For a third (in the case of both of these spectatofs), they were 
blinded by old, ingrained predilection. And for a fourth, the 
risk the master was supposed to stand in (supposed, 1 say— 
you will soon hear why) made it seem the more ungenerous to 
criticise; and keeping them in a perpetual tender solicitude 
about his life, blinded them the more effectually to his faults. 

It was during this time that I perceived most clearly the 
effect of manner, and was led to lament most deeply the 
plainness of my own. Mr. Henry had the essence of a gentle- 
man; when he was moved, when there was any call of circum- 
stance, he could play his part with dignity and spirit; but in 
the day's commerce (it is idle to deny it) he fell short of the 
ornamental. The master (on the other hand) had never a 
movement but it commended him. So it befell, that when 
the one appeared gracious and the other ungracious, every 


70 THE MASTER OE BALLANTRAE. 

* 

trick of their bodies seemed to call out confirmation. Nor 
that alone; but the more deeply Mr. Henry floundered in his 
brother's toils, the more clownish he grew; and the more the 
master enjoyed his spiteful entertainment, the more engaging- 
ly, the more smilingly, he went! So that the plot, by its own 
scope and progress, furthered and confirmed itself. 

It was one of the man's arts to use the peril in which, as I 
say, he was supposed to stand. He spoke of it to those who 
loved him with a gentle pleasantry, which made it the more 
touching. To Mr. Henry, he used it as a cruel weapon of 
offense. I remember his laying his finger on the clean lozenge 
of the painted window, one day when we three were alone to- 
gether in the hall. “ Here went your lucky guinea, Jacob," 
said he. And when Mr. Henry only looked upon him darkly, 
“ Oh,” he added, “you need not look such impotent malice, 
my good fly. You can be rid of your spider when you please. 
How long, oh, Lord? When are you to be wrought to the 
point of a denunciation, scrupulous brother? It is one of my 
interests in this dreary hole. I ever loved experiment.” Still 
Mr. Henry only stared upon him with a glooming brow and a 
changed color; and at last the master broke out in a laugh and 
clapped him on the shoulder, calling him a sulky dog. At 
this my patron leaped back with a gesture I thought very dan- 
gerous; and 1 must suppose the master thought so toft; for he 
looked the least in the world discountenanced, and I do not 
remember him again to have laid hands on Mr. Henry. 

But though he had his peril always on his lips in the one 
way or the other, I thought his conduct strangely incautious, 
and began to fancy the government (who had set a price upon 
his head) was gone sound asleep. I will not deny I was 
tempted with the wish to denounce him; but two thoughts 
withheld me: one that if he were thus to end his life upon an 
honorable scaffold, the man would be canonized for good in 
the minds of his father and my patron's wife; the other, that 
if I was any way mingled in the matter, Mr. Henry himself 
would scarce escape some glancings of suspicion. And in the 
meanwhile our enemy went in and out more than 1 could have 
thought possible, the fact that he was home again was buzzed 
about all the country-side; and yet he was never stirred. Of 
all these so many and so-different persons who were acquainted 
with his presence, none had the least greed (as I used to say, 
in my annoyance) or the least loyalty; and the man rode here 
and there — fully more welcome, considering the lees of old 
unpopularity, than Mr. Henry — and considering the free- 
traders far safer than myself. 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


71 


Not but what he had a trouble of his own; and this, as it 
brought about the gravest consequences, I must now relate. 
The reader will scarce have forgotten Jessie Broun; her way 
of life was much among the smuggling party; Captain Crail 
himself was of her intimates; and she had early word of Mr. 
Bally’s presence at the house. In my opinion she had long 
ceased to care two straws for the master’s person; but it was 
become her habit to connect herself continually with the mas- 
ter’s name; that was the ground of all her play-acting; and 
so, now when he was back, she thought she owed it to herself 
to grow a haunter of the neighborhood of Durrisdeer. The 
master could scarce go abroad but she was there in wait for 
him; a scandalous figure of a woman, not often sober; hailing 
him wildly as “ her bonny laddie,” quoting peddler’s poetry, 
and as I receive the story, even seeking to weep upon his neck. 
I own 1 rubbed my hands over this persecution; but the mas- 
ter, who laid so much upon others, was himself the least 
patient of men. There were strange scenes enacted in the 
policies. Some say he took his cane to her, and Jessie fell 
back upon her former weapon, stones. It is certain at least 
that he made a motion to Captain Crail to have the woman 
trepanned, and that the captain refused the proposition with 
uncommon vehemence. And the end of the matter was vic- 
tory for Jessie. Money was got together; an interview took 
place in which my proud gentleman must consent to be kissed 
and wept upon; and the woman was set up in a public of her 
own, somewhere on Solway side (but 1 forget where) and by 
the only news 1 ever had of it, extremely ill-frequented. 

This is to look forward. After Jessie had been but a little 
while upon his heels, the master comes to me one day in the 
steward’s office, and with more civility than usual, “ Mac- 
kellar,” says he, “ there is a damned crazy wench comes about 
here. I can not well move in the matter myself, which brings 
me to you. Be so good as see to it; the men must have a 
strict injunction to drive the wench away.” 

“ Sir,” said I, trembling a little, “you can do your own 
dirty errands for yourself. ” 

He said not a word to that, and left the room. 

Presently came Mr. Henry. “Here is news!” cried he, 
“ It seems all is not enough, and you must add to my wretch- 
edness. It seems you have insulted Mr. Bally.” 

“ Under your kind favor, Mr. Henry,” said I, “it was he 
that insulted me, .and as 1 think grossly. But I may have 
1 le~- of your position when I spoke; and if you think 

- yo know all, my dear patron, you have but to say 


72 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

the word. For you I would obey in any point whatever, even 
to sin, God pardon me!” And thereupon I told him what 
had passed. 

Mr. Henry smiled to himself; a grimmer smile I never wit- 
nessed. “You did exactly well,” said he. 44 He shall drink 
his Jessie Broun to the dregs.” And then, spying the master 
outside, he opened the window, and crying to him by the name 
of Mr. Bally, asked him to step up and have a word. 

44 James,”- said he, when our persecutor had come in and 
closed the door behind him, looking at me with a smile as if 
he thought I was to be humbled, “ you brought me a com- 
plaint against Mr. Mackellar into which I have inquired. I 
need not tell you I would always take his word against yours; 
for we are alone, and I am going to use something of your 
own freedom. Mr. Mackellar is a gentleman I value; and you 
. must contrive, so long as you are under this roof, to bring 
yourself into no more collisions with one whom I will support 
at any possible cost to me or mine. As for the errand upon 
which you came to him, you must deliver yourself from the 
consequences of your own cruelty, and none of my servants 
shall be at all employed in such a case.” 

“ My father's servants, I believe,” says the master. 

44 Go to him with this tale,” said Mr. Henry. 

The master grew very white. He pointed at me with his 
finger. 4 4 1 want that man discharged,” he said. 

44 He shall not be,” said Mr. Henry. 

44 You shall pay pretty dear for this,” says the master. 

“ I have paid so dear already for a wicked brother,” said 
Mr. Henry, 44 that I am bankrupt even of fears. You have 
no place left where you can strike me.” 

44 1 will show you about that,” says the master, and went 
softly away. 

44 What will he do next, Mackellar?” cries Mr. Henry. 

44 Let me go away,” said L 44 My dear patron, let me go 
away; I am but the beginning of fresh sorrows.” 

44 Would you leave me quite alone?” said he. 

We were not long in suspense as to the nature of the new 
assault. Up to that hour, the master had played a very close 
game with Mrs. Henry; avoiding pointedly to be alone with 
her, which I took at the time for an effect of decency, but now 
think to be a most insidious art; meeting her, you may say, at 
meal-time only; and behaving, when he did so, like an affec- 
tionate brother. Up to that hour, you may say he had scarce 
directly interfered between Mr. Henry and his wife; except in 


THE MASTER OF BA LLAHTR AE. 


73 


so far as he had maneuvered the one quite forth from the good 
graces of the other. Now, all that was to be changed; but 
whether really in revenge, or because he was wearying of 
Durrisdeer and looked about for some diversion, who but the 
devil shall decide? 

From that hour at least began the siege of Mrs. Henry; a 
thing so deftly carried on that I scarce know if she was aware 
of it herself, and that her husband musj; look on in silence. 
The first parallel was opened (as was macfe to appear) by acci- 
dent. The talk fell, as it did often, on the exiles in France: 
so it glided to the matter of their songs. 

4 4 There is one,” says the master, 4 ‘if you are curious in 
these matters, that has always seemed to me very moving. 
The poetry is harsh; and yet, perhaps because of my situation, 
it has always found the way to my heart. It is supposed to be 
sung, I should tell you, by an exile’s sweetheart; and repre- 
sents, perhaps, not so much the truth of what she is thinking, 
as the truth of what he hopes of her, poor soul ! in, these far 
lands.” And here the master sighed. 44 1 protest it is a 
pathetic sight' when a score of rough Irish, all common senti- 
nels, get to this song; and you may see by their falling tears, 
how it strikes home to them. It goes thus, father,” says he, 
very adroitly taking my lord for his listener, “and if I can 
not get to the end of it, you must think it is a common case 
with us exiles.” And thereupon he struck up the same air as 
I had heard the colonel whistle; but now to words, rustic in- 
deed, yet most pathetically setting forth a poor girl’s aspirations 
for an exiled lover: of which one verse indeed (or something 
like it) still sticks by me : 

“ O, 1 will die my petticoat red, 

With my dear boy I’ll beg my bread, 

"Though all my friends should wish me dead, 

For Willie among the rushes, O!” 

He sung it well even as a song; but he did better yet as a 
performer. I have heard famous actors, when there was not 
a dry eye in the Edinburgh theater; a great wonder to behold; 
but no more wonderful than how the master played upon that 
little ballad and on those who heard him like an instrument, 
and seemed now upon the point of failing, and now to conquer 
his distress, so that words and music seemed to pour out of his 
own heart and his own past, and to be aimed direct at Mrs. 
Henry. And his art went further yet; for all was so delicately 
touched, it seemed impossible to suspect him of the last de- 
sign; and so far from making a parade of emotion, you would 
have sworn he was striving to be calm, When it came to m 


74 


THE MASTER OF BALLAFTTRAE. 


end, we all sat silent for a time; he had chosen the dusk of 
the afternoon, so that none could see his neighbor's face; but 
it seemed as if we held our breathing, only my old lord cleared 
his throat. The first to move was the singer, who got to his feet 
- suddenly and softly, and went and walked softly to and fro in 
the low end of the hall, Mr. Henry’s customary place. We were 
to suppose that he there struggled down the last of his emo- 
tion; for he presently returned and launched into a disquisition 
on the nature of the Irish (always so much miscalled, and 
whom he defended) in his natural voice; so that, before the 
lights were brought, we were in the usual course of talk. But 
even then, methought Mrs. Henry’s face was a shade pale; 
and for another thing, she withdrew almost at once. 

The next sign was a friendship this insidious devil struck up 
with innocent Miss Katharine; so that they were always to- 
gether, hand in hand, or she climbing on his knee, like a pair 
of children. Like all his- diabolical acts, this cut in several 
ways. It was the last stroke to Mr. Henry, to see his own 
babe debauched against him; it made him harsh with the poor 
innocent, which brought him still a peg lower in his wife’s 
esteem; and (to conclude) it was a bond of union between the 
lady and the master. Under this influence, their old reserve 
melted by daily stages. Presently there came walks in the 
long shrubbery, talks in the Belvedere, and 1 know not what 
tender familiarity. I am sure Mrs. Henry was like many a 
good woman; she had a whole conscience, but perhaps by the 
means of a little winking. For even to so dull an observer as 
myself, it was plain her kindness was of a more moving nature 
than the sisterly. The tones of her voice appeared more 
numerous; she had a light and softness in her eye; she was 
more gentle with all of us, even with Mr. Henry, even with 
myself; methought she breathed of some quiet melancholy 
happiness. 

To look on at this, what a torment it was for Mr. Henry! 
And yet it brought our ultimate deliverance, as I am soon to 
tell. 

The purport of the master’s stay was no more noble (gild it 
as they might) than to wring money out. He had some de- 
sign of a fortune in the French Indies, as the chevalier wrote 
me; and it was the sum required for this that he came seek- 
ing. For the rest of the family it spelled ruin; but my lord, 
in his incredible partiality, pushed ever for the granting. The 
family was now so narrowed down (indeed there were no more 
of them than just the father and the two sons), that it was 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


75 


possible to break the entail, and alienate a piece of land. And 
to this, at first by hints, and then by open pressure, Mr. Henry 
was brought to consent. He never would have done so, I am 
very well assured, but for the weight of the distress under 
which he labored. But for his passionate eagerness to see his 
brother gone, he would not thus have broken with his own 
sentiment and the traditions of his house. And even so, he 
sold them his consent at a dear rate, speaking for once openly 
and holding the business up in its own shameful colors. 

“You will observe,” he said, 44 this is an injustice to my 
son, if ever I have one. ” 

4 4 But that you are not likely to have,” said my lord. 

44 God knows!” said Mr. Henry. 44 And considering the 
cruel falseness of the position in which I stand to my brother, 
and that you, my lord, are my father and have the right to 
command me, I set my hand to this paper. But one thing I 
will say first: 1 have been ungenerously pushed, and when 
next, my lord, you are tempted to compare your sons, I call 
on you to remember what I have done and what he has done. 
Acts are the fair test. ” 

My lord was the most uneasy man I ever saw; even in his 
old face the blood came up. “ 1 think this is not a very 
wisely chosen moment, Henry, for complaints,” said he. 
44 This takes away from the merit of your generosity.” 

4 ‘ Do not deceive yourself, my lord,” said Mr. Henry. 
44 This injustice is not done from generosity to him, but in 
obedience to'yourself.” 

44 Before strangers — ” begins my lord, still more unhappily 
affected. 

44 There is no one but Mackellar here,” said Mr. Henry; 
44 he is my friend. And my lord, as you make him no 
stranger to your frequent blame, it were hard if I must keep 
him one to a thing so rare as my defense.” 

Almost I believe my lord would have rescinded his decision; 
but the master was on the watch. 

44 Ah, Henry, Henry,” says he, 44 you are the best of us 
still. Rugged and true! Ah, man, 1 wish I was as good.” 

And at that instance of his favorite's generosity, my lord 
desisted from his hesitation, and the deed was signed. 

As soon as it could be brought about, the land of Ochterhall 
was sold for much below its value, and the money paid over to 
our leech and sent by some private carriage into France. Or 
so he said; though I have suspected since it did not go so far. 
And now here was all the mai/s business brought to a success- 
ful head, and his pockets once more bulging with our gold; 


76 


THE MASTER OE BALLANTRAE. 


and yet the point for which we had consented to this sacrifice 
was still denied us, and the visitor still lingered on at Durris- 
deer. Whether in malice, or because the time was not yet 
come for his adventure to the Indies, or because he had hopes 
of his design on Mrs. Henry, or from the orders of the 
government, who shall say? but linger he did and that for 
weeks. 

You will observe I say: from the orders of government; for 
about this time, the man's disreputable secret trickled out. 

The first hint I had was from a tenant, who commented on 
the master's stay and yet more on his security; for this tenant 
was a Jacobi tish sympathizer, and had lost a son at Culloden, 
which gave him the more critical eye. 44 There is one thing," 
said he, 44 that I can not but think strange; and that is how 
he got to Cockermouth." 

“ To Cockermouth?" said I, with a sudden memory of my 
first wonder on beholding the man disembark so point-de-vice 
after so long a voyage. 

4 4 Why, yes," says the tenant, 4 4 it was there he was picked 
up by Captain Grail. You thought he had come from France 
by sea? And so we all did." 

I turned this news a little in my head, and then carried it 
to Mr. Henry. 44 Here is an odd circumstance," said 1, and 
told him. 

44 What matters how he came, Mackellar, as long as he is 
here," groans Mr. Heniy. 

44 No, sir," said I, 44 but think again! Does not this smack 
a little of some government connivance? You know how 
much we have wondered already at the man's security." 

44 Stop," said Mr. Henry. 44 Let me think of this." And 
as he thought, there came that grim smile upon his face that 
was a little like the master's. 44 Give me paper," said he. 
And he sat without another word and wrote to a gentleman of 
his acquaintance — I will name no unnecessary names, but he 
was one in a high place. This letter I dispatched by the only 
hand I could depend upon in such a case, Macconochie's; and 
the old man rode hard, for he was back with the reply before 
even my eagerness had ventured to expect him. Again, as he 
read it, Mr. Henry had the same grim smile. 

44 This is the best you have done for me yet, Mackellar," 
says he. 44 With this in my hand, I will give him a shog. 
Watch for us at dinner." 

At dinner accordingly, Mr. Henry proposed some very 
public appearance for the master; and my lord, as he had 
hoped, objected to the danger of the course. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


77 


44 Oh,” says Mr. Henry, very easily, 44 you need no longer 
keep this up with me. I am as much in the secret as your- 
self.” 

44 In the secret?” says my lord. “ What do you mean, 
Henry? I give you my word 1 am in no secret from which 
you are excluded.” 

The master had changed countenance, and I saw he was 
struck in a joint of his harness. 

4 4 How?” says Mr. Henry, turning to him with a huge 
appearance of surprise. “ I see you serve your masters very 
faithfully; but I had thought you would have been humane 
enough to set your father's mind at rest.” 

44 What are you talking of? I refuse to have my business 
publicly discussed. I order this to cease,” cries the master 
very foolishly and passionately, and indeed more like a child 
than a man. 

44 So much discretion was not looked for at your hands, I 
can assure you,” continued Mr. Henry. 44 For see what my 
correspondent writes ” — unfolding the paper — 4 4 4 It is, of 
course, in the interests both of the government and the gen- 
tleman whom we may perhaps best continue to call Mr. Bally, 
to keep this understanding secret; but it was never meant his 
own family should continue to endure the suspense you paint 
so feelingly; and I am pleased mine should be the hand to set 
these fears at rest. Mr. Bally is as safe in Great Britain as 
yourself.' ” 

44 Is this possible?” cries my lord, looking at his son, with a 
great deal of wonder and still more of suspicion in his face. 

44 My dear father,” says the master, already much recovered, 
44 1 am overjoyed that this may be disclosed. My own in- 
structions direct from London bore a very contrary sense, and 
1 was charged to keep the indulgence secret from every one, 
yourself not excepted, and indeed yourself expressly named — 
as I can show in black and white, unless I have destroyed the 
letter. They must have changed their mind very swiftly, for 
i3 whole matter is still quite fresh; or rather Henry's corre- 
spondent must have misconceived that part, as he seems to 
have misconceived the rest. To tell you the truth, sir,” he 
continued, getting visibly more easy, 44 1 had supposed this 
unexplained favor to a rebel was the effect of some application 
rom yourself; and the injunction to secrecy among my family 
ti*e result of a desire on your part to conceal your kindness. 
3 nce I was the more careful to obey orders. It remains now 
guess by what other channel indulgence can have flowed on 
notorious an offender as myself; for I do not think your 


78 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


son need defend himself from what seems hinted at in Henry’s 
letter. I have never yet heard of a Durrisdeer who was a 
turncoat or a spy/’ says he, proudly. 

And so it seemed he had swum out of this danger un- 
harmed; but this was to reckon without a blunder he had 
made, and without the pertinacity of Mr. Henry, who was now 
to show he had something of his brother’s spirit. 

“ You say the matter is still fresh,” says Mr. Henry. 

“It is recent,/’ says the master, with a fair show of 
stoutness and yet not without a quaver. 

“Is it so recent as that?” asks Mr. Henry, like a man a 
little puzzled, and spreading his letter forth again. 

In all the letter there w T as no word as to the date; but how 
was the master to know that? 

“It seemed to come late enough for me,” says he, with a 
laugh. And at the sound of that laugh, which rang false like 
a cracked bell, my lord looked at him again across the table, 
and 1 saw his old lips draw together close. 

“ Ho,” said Mr. Henry, still glancing on his letter, “ but I 
remember your expression. You said it was very fresh.” 

And here we had a proof of our victory, and the strongest 
instance yet of my lold’s incredible indulgence; for what must 
he do but interfere to save his favorite from exposure! 

“I think, Henry,” says he, with a kind of pitiful* eager- 
ness, “ I think we need dispute no more. We are all rejoiced 
at last to find your brother safe; we are all at one on that; 
and as grateful subjects, we can do no less than drink to the 
king’s health and bounty. ” 

Thus was the master extricated; but at least he had been 
put to his defense, he had come lamely out, and the attraction 
of his personal danger was now publicly plucked away from 
him. My lord, in his heart of hearts, now knew his favorite 
to be a government spy; and Mrs. Henry (however she ex- 
plained the tale) was notably cold in her behavior to the dis- 
credited hero of romance. Thus in the best fabric of duplic- 
ity, there is some weak point, if you can strike it, which will 
loosen all; and if, by this fortunate stroke, we had not shaken 
the idol, who can say how it might have gone with us at the 
catastrophe? 

And yet at the time we seemed to have accomplished noth- 
ing. Before a day or two he had wiped off the ill results of 
his discomfiture, and to all appearance stood as high as ever. 
As for my Lord Durrisdeer, he was sunk in parental partiality; 
it was not so much love, which should be an active quality, as 


THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 


79 


an apathy and torpor of his other powers; and forgiveness (so 
to misapply a noble word) flowed from him in sheer weak- 
ness, like the tears of senility. Mrs. Henry's was a different 
case; and Heaven alone knows what he found to say to her or 
how he persuaded her from her contempt. It is one of the 
worst things of sentiment that the voice grows to be more im- 
portant than the words, and the speaker than that which is 
spoken. But some excuse the master must have found, or 
perhaps he had even struck upon some art to wrest this ex- 
posure to his own advantage; for after a time of coldness, it 
seemed as if things went worse than ever between him and 
Mrs. Henry. They were then constantly together. I would 
not be thought to cast one shadow of blame, beyond what is 
due to a half-willful blindness, on that unfortunate lady; but 
I do think, in these last days, she was playing very near the 
fire; and whether I be wrong or not in that, one thing is sure 
and quite sufficient: Mr. Henry thought so. The poor gen- 
tleman sat for days in my room, so great a picture of distress 
that I could never venture to address him; yet it is to be 
thought he found some comfort even in my presence and the 
knowledge of my sympathy. There were times, too, when we 
talked, and a strange manner of talk it was; there was never 
a person named, nor an individual circumstance referred to; 
yet we had the same matter in our mind, and we were each 
aware of it. It is a strange art that can thus be practiced: to 
talk for hours of a thing, and never name nor yet so much as 
hint at it. And I remember I wondered if it was by some such 
natural skill that the master made love to Mrs. Henry all day 
long (as he manifestly did), yet never startled her into reserve. 

To show how far affairs had gone with Mr. Henry, I will 
give some words of his, uttered (as I have cause not to forget) 
upon the 26th of February, 1757. It was unseasonable 
weather, a cast back into winter: windless, bitter cold, the 
world all white with rime, the sky low and gray; the sea black 
and silent like a quarry hole. Mr. Henry sat close by the fire 
and debated (as was now common with him) whether “ a 
man '’should “ do things," whether “ interference was wise," 
and the like general propositions, which each of us particularly 
applied. I was by the window looking out, when there passed 
below me the master, Mrs. Henry and Miss Katharine, that 
now constant trio. The child was running to and fro delight- 
ed with the frost; the master spoke close in the lady's ear with 
what seemed (even from so far) a devilish- grace of insinua- 
tion; and she on her part looked on the ground like a person 
lost in listening. 1 broke out of my reserve, 


80 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


“ If I were you, Mr. Henry,” said 1, 44 I would deal openly 
with my lord. ” 

“ Mackellar, Mackellar, ” said he, 44 you do not see the 
weakness of my ground. 1 can carry no such base thoughts 
to any one: to my father least of all; that would be to fall 
into the bottom of his scorn. The weakness of my ground,” 
he continued, “ lies in myself, that I am not one who engages 
love. I have their gratitude, they all tell me that: I have a 
rich estate of it! But 1 am not present in their minds; they 
are moved neither to think with me nor to think for me. 
There is my loss!” He got to his feet, and trod down the fire. 
44 But some method must be found, Mackellar,” said he, look- 
ing at me suddenly over his shoulder; 44 some way must be 
found. I am a man of a great deal of patience — far too much 
— far too much. I. begin to despise myself. And yet sure 
never was a man involved in such a toil!” He fell back to his 
brooding. 

44 Cheer up,” said I. 44 It will burst of itself.” 

44 1 am far past anger now,” says he, which had so little 
coherency with my own observation, that I let both fall. 


ACCOUNT OF ALL THAT PASSED ON THE NIGHT 
OF FEBRUARY 27TH, 1757. 

On the evening of the interview referred to, the master went 
abroad ; he was abroad a great deal of the next day also, that 
fatal 27th; but where he went or what he did, we never con- 
cerned ourselves to ask until next day. If we had done so, 
and by any chance found out, it might have changed all. But 
as all we did was done in ignorance, and should be so judged, 
I shall so narrate these passages as they appeared to us in the 
moment of their birth, and reserve all that I since discovered 
for the time of its discovery. For I have now come to one of 
the dark parts of my narrative, and must engage the reader's 
indulgence for my patron. 

All the 27th, that rigorous weather endured: astifliug cold; 
the folk passing about like smoking chimneys; the wide hearth 
in' the hall piled high with fuel; some of the spring birds that 
had already blundered north into our neighborhood besieging 
the windows of the house or trotting on the frozen turf like 
things distracted,. About noon there came a blink of sunshine, 
showing a very pretty, wintery, frosty landscape of white hills 
and woods, with Crail's lugger waiting for a wind under the 
Craig Head, and the smoke mounting straight into the air 
from every farm and cottage. With the coming of night the 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


.81 


haze closed in overhead; it fell dark and still and starless and 
exceeding cold : a night the most unseasonable, fit for strange 
events. 

Mrs. Henry withdrew, as was now her custom, very early. 
We had set ourselves of late to pass the evening with a game 
of cards; another mark that our visitor Was wearying mightily 
of the life at Durrisdeer; and we had not been long at this, 
when my old lord slipped from his place beside the fire, and 
was off without a word to seek the warmth of bed. The three 
thus left together had neither love nor courtesy to share; not 
one of us would have sat up one instant to oblige another; yet 
from the influence of custom and as the cards had just been 
dealt, we continued the form of playing out the round. I 
should say we were late sitters; and though my lord had de- 
parted earlier than was his custom, twelve was already gone 
some time upon the clock, and the servants long ago in bed. 
Another thing I should say, that although I never saw the 
master any way affected with liquor, he had been drinking 
freely and was perhaps (although he showed it not) a trifle 
heated. 

Any way, he now practiced one of his transitions; and so 
soon as the door closed behind my lord, and without the small- 
est change of voice, shifted from ordinary civil talk into a 
stream of insult. 

“ My dear Henry, it is yours to play,” he had been saying, 
and now continued: “ It is a very strange thing how, even in 
so small a matter as a game of cards, you display your rus- 
ticity. You play, Jacob, like a bonnet laird, or a sailor in a 
tavern. The same dullness, the same petty greed, cette lenteur 
d’hebete qui me fait rager ; it is strange I should have such a 
brother. Even* Squaretoes has a certain vivacity when his 
stake is imperiled; but the dreariness of a game with you, I 
positively lack language to depict . 99 

Mr. Henry continued to look at his cards, as though very 
maturely considering some play; but his mind was elsewhere. 

“Dear God, will this never be done?” cries the master. 
“ Quel lourdeau ! But why do I trouble you with French ex- 
pressions, which are lost on such an ignoramus? A lourdeau , 
my dear brother, is as we might say a bumpkin, a clown, a 
clodpole : a fellow without grace, lightness, quickness; any gift 
of pleasing, any natural brilliancy: such a one as you shall 
see, when you desire, by looking in the mirror. 1 tell you 
these things for your good, I assure you; and besides, Square- 
toes 99 (looking at me and stifling a yawn), “it is one of my 
diversions in this very dreary spot, to toast you and your mas- 


82 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

ter at the fire like chestnuts. I have great pleasure in your 
case, for I observe the nickname (rustic as it is), has always 
the power to make you writhe. But sometimes I have more 
trouble with this dear fellow here, who seems to have gone to 
sleep upon his cards. Do you not see the applicability of the 
epithet I have just explained, dear Henry? Let me show you. 
For instance, with all those solid qualities which I delight to 
recognize in you, 1 never knew a woman who did not prefer 
me— nor, 1 think,” he continued, with the most silken delib- 
eration, “ I think — who did not continue to prefer me.” 

Mr. Henry laid down his cards. He rose to his feet very 
softly, and seemed all the while like a person in deep thought. 
“ You coward!” he said, gently, as if to himself. And then, 
with neither hurry nor any particular violence, he struck the 
master in the mouth. 

The master sprung to his feet like one transfigured. I had 
never seen the man so beautiful. “ A blow!” he cried. “ I 
would not take a blow from God Almighty.” 

“ Lower your voice,” said Mr. Henry. “ Do you wish my 
father to interfere for you again?” 

“ Gentlemen, gentlemen,” I cried, and sought to come be- 
tween them. 

The master caught me by the shoulder, held me at arm's- 
length, and still addressing his brother: “ Do you know what 
this means?” said he, 

“ It was the most deliberate act of my life,” says Mr. 
Henry. 

“ I must have blood, I must have blood for this,” says the 
master. 

“ Please God it shall be yours,” said Mr. Henry; and he 
went to the wall and took down a pair of swords that hung 
there with others, naked. These he presented to the master 
by the points. “ Mackellar shall see us play fair,” said Mr. 
Henry. “ I think it very needful.” 

“You need insult me no more,” said the master, taking 
one of the swords at random. “ I have hated you all my life.” 

“ My father is but newly gone to bed,” said Mr. Henry. 
“ We must go somewhere forth of the house.” 

There is an excellent place in the long shrubbery,” said 
the master. 

“ Gentlemen,” said I, “shame upon you both! Sons of 
the same mother, would you turn against the life she gave 
you?” 

“ Even so, Mackellar,” said Mr. Henry, with the same per- 
fect quietude of manner he had shown throughout. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


83 


“ It is what I will prevent,” said T. 

And now here is a blot upon my life. At these words of 
mine the master turned his blade against my bosom; I saw the 
light run along the steel; and I threw up my arms and fell to 
my knees before him on the floor. “ No, no,” I cried, like a 
baby. 

“ We shall have no more trouble with him,” said the mas- 
ter. ‘ 4 It is a good thing to have a coward in the house.” 

“We must have light,” said Mr. Henry, as though there 
had been no interruption. 

“ This trembler can bring a pair of candles,” said the mas- 
ter. 

To my shame be it said, I was so blinded with the flashing 
of that bare sword, that I volunteered to bring a lantern. 

“We do not need a 1-1-lantern,” said the master, mocking 
me. “ There is no breath of air. Come, get to your feet, 
take a pair of lights, and go before. I am close behind 
with this — ” making the blade glitter as he spoke. 

I took up the candlesticks and went before them, steps that 
I would give my hand to recall; but a coward is a slave at the 
best; and even as I went, my teeth smote each other in my 
mouth. It was as he had said, there was no breath stirring: 
a windless stricture of frost had bound the air; and as we went 
forth in the shine of the candles, the blackness was like a roof 
over our heads. Never a word was said, there was never a 
sound but the creaking of our steps along the frozen path. 
The cold of the night fell about me like a bucket of water; I 
shook as 1 went with more than terror; but my companions, 
bareheaded like myself, and fresh from the warm hall, ap- 
peared not even conscious of the change. 

“ Here is the place,” said the master. “ Set down the 
candles.” 

I did as he bade me, and presently the flames went up as 
steady as in a chamber in the midst of the frosted trees, and I 
beheld these two brothers take their places. 

“ The light is something in my eyes,” said the master. 

“ I will give you every advantage,” replied Mr. Henry, 
shifting his ground, “ for I think you are about to die.” He 
spoke rather sadly than otherwise, yet there was a ring in his 
voice. 

“ Henry Durie,” said the master, “ two words before I 
begin. You are a fencer, you can hold a foil; you little know 
what a change it makes to hold a sword! And by that I know 
you are to fall. But see how strong is my situation! If you 
fall, I shift out of this country to where my money is before 


84 


THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 


me. If 1 fall, where are you? My father, your wife who is 
in love with me — as you very well know — your child even who 
prefers me to yourself: how will these avenge me! Had you 
thought of that, dear Henry ?” He looked at his brother with 
a smile; then made a fencing-room salute. 

Never a word said Mr. Henry, but saluted too, and the 
swords rang together. 

I am no judge of the play, but my head besides was gone 
with cold and fear and horror; but it seems that Mr. Henry 
took and kept the upper hand from the engagement, crowding 
in upon his foe with a contained and glowing fury. Nearer 
and nearer he crept upon the man till, of a sudden, the mas- 
ter leaped back with a little sobbing oath; and I believe the 
movement brought the light once more against his eyes. To 
it they went again, on the fresh ground; but now methought 
closer, Mr. Henry pressing more outrageously, the master be- 
yond doubt with shaken confidence. For it is beyond doubt 
he now recognized himself for lost, and had some taste of the 
cold agony of fear; or he had never attempted the foul stroke. 
I can not say I followed it, my untrained eye was never quick 
enough to seize details, but it appears he caught his brother’s 
blade with his left hand, a practice not permitted. Certainly 
Mr. Henry only saved himself by leaping on one side; as cer- 
tainly the master, lunging in the air, stumbled on his knee, 
and before he could move, the sword was through his body. 

I cried out with a stifled scream, and ran in; but the body 
was already fallen to the ground, where it writhed a moment 
like a trodden worm, and then lay motionless. 

“ Look at his left hand,” said Mr. Henry. 

“ It is all bloody,” said I. 

“ On the inside?” said he. 

“ It is cut on the inside,” said I. 

“ 1 thought so,” said he, and turned his back. 

I opened the man’s clothes; the heart was quite still, it gave 
not a flutter. 

“ God forgive us, Mr. Henry!” said I. “ He is dead.” 

‘‘Dead?” he repeated, a little stupidly; and then with a 
rising tone, “Dead? dead?” says he, and suddenly cast his 
bloody sword upon the ground. 

“Mhat must we do?” said I. “Be yourself, sir. It is 
too late now: you must be yourself. v 

He turned and stared at me. “ Oh, Mackellar!” says he, 
and put his face in his hands. 

I plucked him by the coat. “For God’s sake, for all our 
sakes, be more courageous!” said I. “ What must we do?” 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


85 


He showed me his face with the same stupid stare. 44 Do?” 
says he. And with that his eye fell on the body, and 44 oh!” 
he cries out, with his hand to his brow, as if he had never re- 
membered; and turning from me, made off toward the house 
of Durrisdeer at a strange stumbling run. 

1 stood a moment mused;' then it seeded to me my duty lay 
most plain on the side of the living; and 1 ran after him, leav- 
ing the candles on the frosty ground and the body lying in 
their light under the trees. But run a3 I pleased, he had the 
start of me, and was got into the house, and up to the hall, 
where 1 found him standing before the fire with his face once 
more in his hands, and as he so stood, he visibly shuddered. 

“ Mr. Henry, Mr. Henry,” 1 said, 44 this will be the ruin 
of us all.” 

44 What is this that I have done?” cries he, and then, look- 
ing upon me with a countenance that I shall never forget, 
44 Who is to tell the old man?” he said. 

The word knocked at my heart; but it was no time for 
weakness. I went and poured him out a glass of brandy. 
44 Drink that,” said I, 44 drink it down.” I forced him to 
swallow it like a child ; and, being still perished with the cold 
of the night, I followed his example. 

4 4 It has to be told, Mackellar,” said he. 44 It must be told. ” 
And he fell suddenly in a seat — my old lord's seat by the 
chimney-side — and was shaken with dry sobs. 

Dismay came upon my soul; it was plain there was no help 
in Mr. Henry. 44 Well,” said I, 44 sit there, and leave all to 
me. ” And taking a candle in my hand, I set forth out of the 
room in the dark house. There was no movement; I must 
suppose that all had gone unobserved; and I was now to con- 
sider how to smuggle through the rest with the like secrecy. 
It was no hour for scruples; and 1 opened my lady's door with- 
out so much as a knock, and passed boldly in. 

44 There is some calamity happened,” she cried, sitting up 
in bed. 

44 Madame,” said I, 44 1 will go forth again into the passage; 
and do you get as quickly as you can into your clothes. There 
is much to be done.” 

She troubled me with no questions, nor did she keep me 
waiting. Ere I had time to prepare a word of that which I 
must say to her, she was on the threshold signing me to enter. 

44 Madame,” said I, 44 if you can not be* very brave, 1 must 
go elsewhere; for if no one helps me to-night, there is an end 
of the house of Durrisdeer. ” 


86 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


Ci 1 am very courageous,” said she; and she looked at me 
with a sort of smile, very painful to see, but very brave too. 

“ It has come to a duel,” said I. 

“ A duel?” she repeated. “A duel! Henry and — ” 

“ And the master,” said I. “ Things have been borne so 
long, things of which you know nothing, which you. would not 
believe if I should tell. But to-night it went too far, and when 
he insulted you — ” 

“ Stop,” said she. 4 4 He? Who?” 

44 Oh, madame!” cried 1, my bitterness breaking forth, 44 do 
you ask me such a question? Indeed, then, I may go else- 
where for help; there is none here!” 

44 1 do not know in what 1 have offended you,” said she. 
44 Forgive me; put me out of this suspense.” 

But I dared not tell her yet; I felt not sure of her; and at 
the doubt and under the sense of impotence it brought with it, 
I turned on the poor woman with something near to anger. 

44 Madame,” said I, 44 we are speaking of two men; one of 
them insulted you, and you ask me which, 1 will help you to 
the answer. With one of these men you have spent all your 
hours; has the other reproached you? To one, you have been 
always kind; to the other, as God sees me and judges between 
us two, I think not always; has his love ever failed you? To- 
night one of these two men told the other, in my hearing— the 
hearing of a hired stranger — that you were in love with him. 
Before I say one word, you shall answer your own question: 
Which was it? Nay, madame, you shall answer me another: 
If it has come to this dreadful end, whose fault is it?” 

She stared at me like one dazzled. 44 Good God!” she said 
once, in a kind of bursting exclamation; and then a second 
time, in a whisper to herself, 44 Great God! In the name of 
mercy, Mackellar, what is wrong?” she cried. 44 1 am made 
up; 1 can hear all.” 

44 You are not fit to hear,” said I. 44 Whatever it was, you 
shall say first it was your fault.” 

44 Oh!” she cried, with a gesture of wringing her hands, 
44 this man will drive me mad! Can you not put me out of 
your thoughts?” 

44 1 think not once of you,” I cried. 44 1 think of none but 
my dear unhappy master. ” 

44 Ah!” she cried, with her hand to her heart, 44 is Henry 
dead?” 

44 Lower your vdice,” said I. 44 The other. ” 

I saw her sway like something stricken by the wind, and I 
know not whether in cowardice or misery, turned aside and 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


87 


looked upon the floor. 44 These are dreadful tidings, ” said I 
at length, when her silence began to put me in some fear; 
“ and you and 1 behove to be the more bold if the house is to 
be saved. ” Still she answered nothing. “There is Miss 
Katharine besides,” I added; “ unless we bring this matter 
through, her inheritance is like to be of shame.” 

I do not know if it was the thought of her child or the naked 
word shame that gave her deliverance; at least I had no sooner 
spoken than a sound passed her lips, the like of it I never 
heard; it was as though she had lain buried under a hill and 
sought to move that burden. And the next moment she had 
found a sort of voice. 

“ It was a fight,” she whispered. “ It was not — ” and she 
paused upon the word. 

44 It was a fair fight on my dear master's part,” said I. 
44 As for the ether, he was slain in the very act of a foul 
stroke.” 

“Not now!” she cried. 

“Madame,” said I, “hatred of that man glows in my 
bosom like a burning fire; ay, even now he is dead. God 
knows, I would have stopped the fighting, had I dared. It is 
my shame 1 did not. But when I saw him fall, if I could have 
spared one thought from pitying of my master, it had been to 
exult in that deliverance.” 

I do not know if she marked; but her next words were: 
“ My lord?” 

“ That shall be my part,” said I. 

“ You will not speak to him as you have to me?” she asked. 

“ Madame,” said I, “ have you not some one else to think 
of? Leave my lord to me. ” 

“ Some one else?” she repeated. 

“ Your husband,” said I. She looked at me with a counte- 
nance illegible. “ Are you going to turn your back on him?” 
1 asked. 

Still she looked at me; then her hand went to her heart 
again. “No,” said she. 

“ God bless you for that word!” I said. “ Go to him now 
where he sits in the hall; speak to him — it matters not what 
you say; give him your hand; say, 4 I know all;' if God gives 
you grace enough, say, 4 Forgive me. ' ” 

“ God strengthen you, and make you merciful,” said she. 
“ I will go to my husband.” 

44 Let me light you there,” said I, taking up the candle. 

“ 1 will fir. 1 vay in the dark,” she said, with a shudder, 
think U.e shudder was at me. 


88 


THE MASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 


So we separated, she down-stairs to where a little light glim- 
mered in the hall door, I along the passage to my lord’s room. 
It seems hard to say why, but 1 could not burst in on the old 
man as I could on the young woman; with whatever reluc- 
tance, I must knock. But his old slumbers were light, or per- 
haps he slept not; and at the first summons I was bidden 
enter. 

He too sat up in bed; very aged and bloodless he looked; 
and whereas he had a certain largeness of appearance when 
dressed for daylight, he now seemed frail and little, and his 
face (the wig being laid aside) not bigger than a child’s. This 
daunted me; nor less, the haggard surmise of misfortune in 
his eye. Yet his voice was even peaceful as he inquired my 
errand. I sat my candle down upon a chair, leaned on the 
bed-foot, and looked at him. 

“ Lord Durrisdeer,” said I, “ it is very well known to you 
that I am a partisan in your family. ” 

“ 1 hope we are none of us partisans,” said he. “ That you 
love my son sincerely, I have always been glad to recognize.” 

“ Oh, my lord, we are past the hour of these civilities,” I 
replied. “If we are to save anything out of the fire, we must 
look the fact in its bare countenance. A partisan I am; par- 
tisans we have all been; it is as a partisan that I am here in 
the middle of the night to plead before you. Hear me; before 
I go, I will tell you why.” 

“ I would always hear you, Mr. Mackellar,” said he, “ and 
that at any hour, whether of the day or night, for I would be 
always sure you had a reason. You spoke once before to very 
proper purpose; I have not forgotten that.” 

“lam here to plead the cause of my master,” I said. “ 1 
need not tell you how he acts. You know how he is placed. 
You know with what generosity he has always met your other 
— met your wishes,” I corrected myself, stumbling at that 
name of son. “ You know — you must know — what he has 
suffered — what he has suffered about his wife.” 

“ Mr. Mackellar!” cried my lord, rising in bed like a 
bearded lion. 

“ You said you would hear me,” I continued. “ Wfiat you 
do not know, what you should know, one of the things 1 am 
here to speak of — is the persecution he must bear in private. 
Your back is not turned, before one whom I dare not name 
to you falls upon him with the most unfeeling taunts; twits 
him — pardon me, my lord! — twits him with your partiality, 
calls him Jacob, calls him clown, pursues him with ungener- 
ous raillery, not to be borne by man. And let but one of you 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


89 


appear, instantly he changes; and my master must smile and 
courtesy to the man who has been feeding him with insults; I 
know — for I have shared in some of it, and I tell you the life 
is insupportable. All these months it has endured; it began 
with the man’s landing; it was by the name of Jacob that my 
master was greeted the first night.” 

My lord made a movement as if to throw aside the clothes 
and rise. “ If there be any truth in this — ” said he. 

“ Do I look like a man lying?” 1 interrupted, checking him 
with my hand. 

“ You should have told me at first,” he said. 

“ Ah, my lord, indeed I should, and you may well hate the 
face of this unfaithful servant!” I cried, 

“ I will take order,” said he, “ at once.” And again made 
the movement to rise. 

Again I checked him. “I have not done,” said I. 
“Would God I had! All this my dear, unfortunate patron 
has endured without help or countenance. Your own best 
word, my lord, was only gratitude. Oh, but he was your son, 
too! He had no other father. He was hated in the country, 
God knows how unjustly. He had a loveless marriage. He 
stood on all hands without affection or support, dear, generous, 
ill-fated, noble heart.” 

“ Your tears do you much honor and me much shame,” 
says my lord, with a palsied trembling. “ But you do me 
some inj ustice. Henry has been ever dear to me, very dear. 
James (I do not deny it, Mr. Mackellar), James is perhaps 
dearer; you have not seen my James in quite a favorable light; 
he has suffered under his misfortunes; and we can only re- 
member how great and how unmerited these were. And even 
now his is the more affectionate nature. But I will not speak 
of him. All that you say of Henry is most true; I do not 
wonder, 1 know him to be very magnanimous; you will say I 
trade upon the knowledge? It is possible; there are danger- 
ous virtues; virtues that tempt the encroacher. Mr. Mackel- 
lar, I will make it up to him; I will take order with all this. 
I have been weak; and what is worse, I have been dull.” 

“ I must not hear you blame yourself, my lord, with that 
which I have yet to tell upon my conscience,” 1 replied. 
“ You have not been weak; you have been abused by a devilish 
dissembler. Y r ou saw yourself how he had deceived you in the 
matter of his danger; he has deceived you throughout in every 
step of his career. I wish to pluck him from your heart; I 
wish to force your eyes upon your other son; ah, you have a 
son there!” 


90 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


“ No, no,” said he, “ two sons— 1 have two sons.” 

I made some gesture of despair that struck him; he looked 
at me with a changed face. “ There is much worse behind?” 
he asked, his voice dying as it rose upon the question. 

“ Much worse,” 1 answered. “ This night he said these 
words to Mr. Henry : ‘ I have never known a woman who did 
not prefer me to you, and I think who did not continue to 
prefer me. ’ ” 

I will hear nothing against my daughter!” he cried; and 
from his readiness to stop me in this direction, I conclude his 
eyes were not so dull as I had fancied, and he had looked on 
not without anxiety upon the siege of Mrs. Henry. 

“1 think not of blaming her,” cried I. “ It is not that. 
These words were said in my hearing to Mr. Henry ; and if 
you find them not yet plain enough, these others but a little 
after: ‘ Your wife who is in love with me/ ” 

“ They have quarreled?” he said. 

I nodded. 

“ I must fly to them,” he said, beginning once again to 
leave his bed. 

“ No, no!” I cried, holding forth my hands. 

“You do not know,” said he. “These are dangerous 
words. ” 

“ Will nothing make your understand, my lord?” said I. 

His eyes besought me for the truth. 

I flung myself on my knees by the bedside. “ Oh, my 
lord,” cried I, “ think on him you have left, think of this 
poor sinner whom you begot, whom your wife bore to you, 
whom we have none of us strengthened as we could; think of 
him, not of yourself; he is the other sufferer — think of him! 
That is the door for sorrow, Christ’s door, God’s door; oh, it 
stands open! Think of him, even as he thought of you. Who 
is to tell the old man ? these were his words. It was for that 
I came; that is why I am here pleading at your feet.” 

“ Let me get up,” he cried, thrusting me aside, and was on 
his feet before myself. His voice shook like a sail in the wind, 
yet he spoke with a good loudness; his face was like the snow, 
but his eyes were steady and dry. “ Here is too much 
speech!” said he. “ Where was it?” 

“ In the shrubbery,” said 1. 

“ And Mr. Henry?” he asked. And when I had told him 
he knotted his old face in thought. 

“ And Mr. James?” says he. 

“ I have left him lying,” said I, “ beside the candles.” 

“ Candles?” he cried. And with that he ran to the win- 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


91 


dow, opened it, and looked abroad. “ It might be spied from 
the road.” 

“ Where none goes by at such an hour,” I objected. 

“ It makes no matter,” he said. “ One might. Hark!” 
cries he. “ What is that?” 

It was the sound of men very guardedly rowing in the bay; 
and 1 told him so. 

“The free-traders,” said my lord. “Run at once, Mac- 
kellar; put these candles out. 1 will dress in the meanwhile; 
and when you return we can debate on what is wisest. ” 

1 groped my way down-stairs, and out at the door. From 
quite a far way off a sheen was visible, making points of 
brightness in the shrubbery; in so black a night it might have 
been remarked for miles; and I blamed myself bitterly for my 
incaution: How much more sharply when I reached the place! 
One of the candlesticks was overthrown, and that taper 
quenched. The other burned steadily by itself, and made a 
broad space of light upon the frosted ground. All within that 
circle seemed, by the force of contrast and the overhanging 
blackness, brighter than by day. And there was the blood- 
stain in the midst; and a little further off Mr. Henry’s sword, 
the pommel of which was of silver; but of the body, not a 
trace. My heart thumped upon my ribs, the hair stirred upon 
my scalp, as I stood there staring; so strange was the sight, so 
dire the fears it wakened. 1 looked right and left; the ground 
was so hard it told no story. 1 stood and listened till my ears 
ached, but the night was hollow about me like an empty 
church; not even a ripple stirred upon the shore; it seemed 
you might have heard a pin drop in the county. 

I put the candle out, and the blackness fell about me grop- 
ing dark; it was like a crowd surrounding me; and I went 
back to the house of Durrisdeer, with my chin upon my shoul- 
der, startling, as I went, with craven suppositions. In the 
door a figure moved to meet me, and 1 had near screamed with 
terror ere 1 recognized Mrs. Henry. 

“ Have you told him?” says she. 

“ It was he who sent me,” said I. “It is gone. But why 
are you here?” 

“ It is gone!” she repeated. “ What is gone?” 

“ The body,” said I. “ Why are you not with your hus- 
band?” 

“Gone?” said she. “You can not have looked. Come 
back.” 

“ There is no light now,” said 1. “ I- dare not.” 


92 


THE MASTER OF BA LLANTEAE. 


“ I can see in the dark. I have been standing here so long, 
—so long/’ said she. “ Come; give me your hand.” 

We returned to the shrubbery hand in hand, and to the fatal 
place. 

“ Take care of the blood,” said I. 

“ Blood?” she cried, and started violently hack. 

“ I suppose it will he,” said I ‘‘lam like a blind man.” 

“No,” said she, “ nothing! Have you not dreamed?” 

“ Ah, would to God we had!” cried 1. 

She spied the sword, picked it up, and, seeing the blood, let 
it fall again with her hands thrown wide. “ Ah!” she cried. 
And then, with an instant courage, handled it the second time 
and thrust it to the hilt into the frozen ground. “ I will take 
it back and clean it properly,” says she, and again looked 
about her on all sides. “ It can not be that he was dead?” 
she added. 

“ There was no flutter of his heart,” said I, and then re- 
membering: “ Why are you not with your husband?” 

“ It is no use,” said she, “ he will not speak to me.” 

“Not speak to you?” I repeated. “ Oh, you have not 
tried!” 

“ You have a right to doubt me,” she replied, with a gentle 
dignity. 

At this, for the first time, I was seized with sorrow for her. 
“ God knows, madame/' I cried, “ God knows I am not so 
hard as I appear; on this dreadful night, who can veneer his 
words? But I am a friend to all who are not Henry Durie’s 
enemies!” 

“ It is hard, then, you should hesitate about his wife,” said 
she. 

1 saw all at once, like the rending of a veil, how nobly she 
had borne this unnatural calamity, and how generously my 
reproaches. 

“We must go back and tell this to my lord,” said I. 

“ Him I can not face,” she cried. 

“ You will find him the least moved of all of us,” said I. 

“ And yet I can not face him,” said she. 

“ Well/’ said I, “ you can return to Mr. Henry; 1 will see 
my lord. ” 

As we walked back, 1 bearing the candlesticks, she the 
sword — a strange burden for that woman — she had another 
thought. “ Should we tell Henry?” she asked. 

. “ Let my lord decide,” said I. 

My lord was nearly dressed when I came to his chamber. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 93 

He heard me with a frown. “ The free-trad ers,” said he. 
“ Bat whether dead or alive?” 

“ I thought him — ” said I, and paused, ashamed of the 
word. 

“ I know; but you may very well have been in error. Why 
should they remove him if not living?” he asked. “ Oh, here 
is a great door of hope. It must be given out that he de- 
parted — as he came — without any note of preparation. We 
must save all scandal.” 

I saw he had fallen, like the rest of us, to think mainly of 
the house. Now that all the living members of the family 
were plunged in irremediable sorrow, it was strange how we 
turned to that conjoint abstraction of the family itself, and 
sought to bolster up the airy nothing of its reputation : not the 
Duries only, but the hired steward himself. 

“ Are we to tell Mr. Henry?” I asked him. 

“ I will see,” said he. “I am going first to visit him, then 
I go forth with you to view the shrubbery and consider.” 

We went down-stairs into the hall. Mr. Henry sat by the 
table with his head upon his hand, like a man of stone. His 
wife stood a little back from him, her hand at her mouth; it 
was plain she could not move him. My old lord walked very 
steadily to where his son was sitting; he had a steady counte- 
nance, too, but methought a little cold; when he was come 
quite up, he held out both his hands and said: “ My son!” 

With a broken, strangled cry, Mr. Henry leaped up and fell 
on his father's neck, crying and weeping, the most pitiful 
sight that ever a man witnessed. “ Oh, father,” he cried, 
“ you know I loved him; you know 1 loved him in the begin- 
ning; I could have died for him — you know that! I would 
have given my life for him and you. Oh, say you know that! 
Oh, say you can forgive me! Oh, father, father, what have I 
done, what have I done? and we used to be bairns together!” 
and wept and sobbed, and fondled the old man, and clutched 
him about the neck, with the passion of a child in terror. 

And then he caught sight of his wife, you would have 
thought for the first time, where she stood weeping to hear 
him; and in a moment had fallen at her knees. “ And oh, 
my lass,” he cried, “ you must forgive me, too! Not your 
husband — I have only been the ruin of your life. But you 
knew me when 1 was a lad; there was no harm in Henry Durie 
then; he meant aye to be a friend to you. It's, him — it's the 
old bairn that played with you — oh, can ye never, never for- 
give him?” 

Throughout all this my lord was like a cold, kind spectator 


94 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


with his wits about him. At the first cry, which was indeed 
enough to call the house about us, he had said to me over his 
shoulder, “ Close the door.” And now he nodded to himself. 

“ We may leave him to his wife now,” says he. “ Bring a 
light, Mr. Mackellar.” 

Upon my going forth again with my lord, 1 was aware of a 
strange phenomenon; for though it was quite dark, and the 
night not yet old, methought I smelled the morning. At the 
same time there went a tossing through the branches of the 
evergreens, so that they sounded like a quiet sea; and the air 
puffed at times against our faces, and the flame of the candle 
shook. We made the more speed, 1 believe, being surrounded 
by this bustle; visited the scene of the duel, where my lord 
looked upt>n the blood with stoicism; and passing further on 
toward the landing-place, came at last upon some evidences of 
the truth. For first of all, where there was a pool across the 
path, the ice had been trodden in, plainly by more than one 
man’s weight; next, and but a little further, a young tree was 
broken; and down by the landing-place, where the traders’ 
boats were usually beached, another stain of blood marked 
where the body must have been infallibly set down to rest the 
bearers. 

This stain we set ourselves to wash away with the sea-water, 
carrying it in my lord’s hat; and as we were thus engaged, 
there came up a sudden, moaning gust and left us instantly 
benighted. 

“ It will come to snow,” says my lord; “ and the best thing 
that we could hope. Let us go back now; we can do nothing 
in the dark. ’ ’ 

As we went house ward, the wind being again subsided, we 
were aware of a strong pattering noise about us in the night; 
and when we issued from the shelter of the trees, we found it 
raining smartly. 

Throughout the whole of this, my lord’s clearness of mind, 
no less than his activity of body, had not ceased to minister to 
my amazement. He set the crown upon it in the council we 
held on our return. The free-traders had certainly secured 
the master, though whether dead or alive we were still left to 
our conjectures; the rain would, long before day, wipe out all 
marks of the transaction; by this we must profit: the master 
had unexpectedly come after the fall of night, it must now be 
given out he had as suddenly departed before the break of 
day; and to make all this plausible, it now only remained for 
me to mount into the man’s chamber, and pack and conceal 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 95 

his baggage. True, we still lay at the discretion of the 
traders; but that was the incurable weakness of our guilt. 

1 heard him, as I said, with wonder, and hastened to obey. 
Mr. and Mrs. Henry were gone from the hall; my lord, for 
warmth's sake, hurried to his bed; there was still no sign of 
stir among the servants, and as I went up the tower stair, and 
entered the dead man’s room, a horror of solitude weighed 
upon my mind. To my extreme surprise, it was all in the 
disorder of departure. Of his three portmanteaus, two were 
ready locked, the third lay open and near full. At once there 
flashed upon me some suspicion of the truth. The man had 
been going after all; he had but waited upon Orail, as Crail 
waited upon the wind; early in the night, the seamen had per- 
ceived the weather changing; the boat had come to give notice 
of the change and call the passenger aboard, and the boat's 
crew had stumbled on -him lying in his blood. Nay, and there 
was more behind. This prearranged departure shed some 
light upon his inconceivable insult of the night before; it was 
a parting shot; hatred being no longer checked by policy. 
And for another thing, the nature of that insult, and the con- 
duct of Mrs. Henry, pointed to one conclusion: which 1 have 
never verified, and can now never verify until the great assize: 
the conclusion that he had at last forgotten himself, had gone 
too far in his advances, and had been rebuffed. It can never 
be verified, as I say; but as I thought of it that morning among 
his baggage, the thought was sweet to me like honey. 

Into the open portmanteau I dipped a little ere I closed it. 
The most beautiful lace and linen, many suits of those fine 
plain clothes in which he loved to appear; a book or two, and 
those of the best, Caesar's 44 Commentaries," a volume of Mr. 
Hobbes, the 44 Henriade " of M. de Voltaire, a book upon the 
Indies, one on the mathematics, far beyond where 1 have 
studied: these were what I observed with very mingled feel- 
ings. But in the open portmanteau, no papers of any descrip- 
tion. This set me musing. It was possible the man was dead; 
but, since the traders had carried him away, not likely. It 
was possible he might still die of his wound; but it was also 
possible he might not. And in this latter case I was deter- 
mined to have the means of some defense. 

One after another I carried his portmanteaus to a loft in the 
top of the house which we kept locked; went to my own room 
for my keys, and, returning to the loft, had the gratification 
to find two that fitted pretty well. In one of the portmanteaus 
there was a shagreen letter-case, which I cut open with my 
knife; and thenceforth (so far as any credit went) the man 


96 


THE MASTEK OF BALLANTKAE. 


was at my mercy. Here was a vast deal of gallant correspond- 
ence, chiefly of his Paris days; and what was more to the 
purpose, here were the copies of his own reports to the English 
secretary, and the originals of the secretary's answers: a most 
damning series: such as to publish would be to wreck the 
master's honor and to set a price upon his life. I chuckled to 
myself as I ran through the documents; 1 ^rubbed my hands, 1 
sung aloud in my glee. Day found me at the pleasing task; 
nor did I then remit my diligence, except in so far as I went 
to the window — looked out for a moment, to see the frost 
quite gone, the world turned black again, and the rain and 
the wind driving in the bay — and to assure myself that the 
lugger was gone from its anchorage, and the master (whether 
dead or alive) now tumbling on the Irish Sea. 

It is proper L should add in this place the very little I have 
subsequently angled out upon the doings of that night. It 
took me a long while to gather it; for we dared not openly 
ask, and the free-traders regarded me with enmity, if not with 
scorn. It was near six months before we even knew for cer- 
tain that the man survived; and it was years before I learned 
from one of Crail's men, turned publican on his ill-gotten 
gain, some particulars which smack to me of truth. It seems 
the traders found the master struggled on one elbow, and now 
staring round him, and now gazing at the candle or at his 
hand which was all bloodied, like a man stupid. Upon their 
coming, he would seem to have found his mind, bade them 
carry him aboard and hold their tongues; and on the captain 
asking how he had come in such a pickle, replied with a burst 
of passionate swearing, and incontinently fainted. They held 
some debate, but they were momently looking for a wind, they 
were highly paid to smuggle him to France, and did not care 
to delay. Besides which, he was well enough liked by these 
abominable wretches: they supposed him under capital sen- 
tence, knew not in what mischief he might have got his 
wound, and judged it a piece of good nature to remove him 
out of the way of danger. So he was taken aboard, recovered 
on the passage over, and was set ashore a convalescent at the 
Havre de Grace. What is truly notable: he said not a word 
to any one of the duel, and not a trader knows to this day in 
what quarrel, or by the hand of what adversary, he fell. With 
any other man I should have set this down to natural decency; 
with him, to pride. He could not bear to avow, perhaps even 
to himself, that he had been vanquished by one whom he had 
so much insulted and whom he so cruelly despised. 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


97 


SUMMARY OF EVENTS DURING THE MASTER'S 
SECOND ABSENCE. 

Of the heavy sickness which declared itself next morning, 1 
can think with equanimity as of the last unmingled trouble 
that befell my master; and even that was perhaps a mercy in 
disguise; for what pains of the body could equal the miseries 
of his mind? Mrs. Henry and I had the watching by the bed. 
My old lord called from time to time to take the news, but 
would not usually pass the Roor. Once, I remember, when 
hope was nigh gone, he stepped to the bedside, looked awhile 
in his son's face, and turned away with a singular gesture of 
the head and hand thrown up, that remains upon my mind as 
something tragic; such grief and such a scorn of sublunary 
things were there expressed. But the most of the time, Mrs. 
Henry and I had the room to ourselves, taking turns by night 
and bearing each other company by day, for it was dreary 
watching. Mr. Henry, his shaven head bound in a napkin, 
tossed to and fro without remission, beating the bed with bis 
hands. His tongue never lay; his voice ran continuously like 
a river, so that my heart was weary with the sound of it. It 
was notable, and to me inexpressibly mortifying, that he spoke 
all the while on matters of no import: comings and goings, 
horses — which he was ever calling to have saddled, thinking 
perhaps (the poor soul!) that he might ride away from his dis- 
comfort — matters of the garden, the salmon nets, and (what I 
particularly raged to hear) continually of his affairs, ciphering 
figures and holding disputation with the tenantry. Never a 
word of his father or his wife, nor of the master, save only for 
a day or two, when his mind dwelt entirely in the past and 
he supposed himself a boy again and upon some innocent 
child's play with his brother. What made this the more 
affecting: it appeared the master had then run some peril of 
his life, for there was a cry — “ Oh, Jamie will be drowned — 
oh, save Jamie!" which he came over and over with a great 
deal of passion. 

This, I say, was affecting, both to Mrs. Henry and myself; 
but the balance of my master's wanderings did him little 
justice. It seemed he had set out to justify his brother's 
calumnies; as though he was bent to prove himself a man of a 

4 


98 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


dry nature, immersed in money-getting. Had I been there 
alone, 1 would not have troubled my thumb; but all the 
while, as I listened, 1 was estimating the effect on the man's 
wife, and telling myself that he fell lower every day. I was 
the one person on the surface of the globe that comprehended 
him, and I was bound there should be yet another. Whether 
he was to die there and his virtues perish; or whether he 
should save his days and come back to that inheritance of 
sorrows, his right memory, I was bound he should be heartily 
lamented in the one case and unaffectedly welcomed in the 
other, by the person he loved the most, his wife. 

Finding no occasion of free speech, I bethought me at last 
of a kind of documentary disclosure; and for some nights, 
when I was off duty and should have been asleep, 1 gave my 
time to the preparation of that which I may call my 
budget. 

But this I found to be the easiest portion of my task, and that 
which remained, namely, the presentation to my lady, almost 
more than I had fortitude to overtake. Several days I went 
about with my papers under my arm, spying for some juncture 
of talk to serve as introduction. I will not deny but that some 
offered; only when they did, my tongue clove to the roof of 
my mouth; and I think I might have been carrying about my 
packet till this day, had not a fortunate accident delivered me 
from all my hesitations. This was at night, when 1 was once 
more leaving the room, the thing not yet done, and myself in 
despair at my own cowardice. 

“ What do you carry about with you, Mr. Mackellar?" she 
asked. “ These last days, I see you always coming in and out 
with the same armful . 99 

I returned upon my steps without a word, laid the papers 
before her on the table, and left her to her reading. Of what 
that was, 1 am now to give you some idea; and the best will 
be to reproduce a letter of my own which came first in the 
budget and of which (according to an excellent habitude) I 
have preserved the scroll. It will show too the moderation of 
my part in these affairs, a thing which some have called reck- 
lessly in question. 

** Durrisdeer. 

“ 1757 . 

“ Honored Madame, — I trust I would not step out of my 
place without occasion; but I see how much evil has flowed in 
the past to all of your noble house from that unhappy and 
secretive fault of reticency, and the papers on which I venture 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


99 


to call your attention are family papers and all highly worthy 
your acquaintance. 

“ I append a schedule with some necessary observations, 

44 And am, 

4 4 Honored madame, 

44 Your ladyship's obliged, obedient servant, 

44 Ephraim Mackellar. 

44 Schedule of Papers. 

44 A. Scroll of ten letters from Ephraim Mackellar to the 
Honorable James Durie, Esq., by courtesy Master of Ballan- 
trae during the latter's residence in Paris: under dates — " 
( follow the dates ) — 44 Nota : to be read in connection with B. 
and 0. 

44 B. Seven original letters from the said M r of Ballan- 
trae to the said E. Mackellar, under dates — " (follow the 
dates). 

44 0. Three original letters from the said M r of Ballantrae 
to the Honorable Henry Durie, Esq., under dates — " (folloio 
the dates ) — 44 Nota : given me by Mr. Henry to answer: copies 
of my answers A 4, A 5, and A 9 of these productions. The 
purport of Mr. Henry's communications, of which I can find 
no scroll, may be gathered from those of his unnatural brother. 

44 D. A correspondence, original and scroll, extending over 
a period of three years till January of the current year, be- 
tween the said M 1 ’ of Ballantrae and , Under Sec- 

retary of State; twenty-seven in all. Nota : found among the 
master's papers. " 

Weary as I was with watching and distress of mind, it was 
impossible for me to sleep. All night long I walked in my 
chamber, revolving what should be the issue and sometimes 
repenting the temerity of my inmixture in affairs so private; 
and with the first peep of the morning, I was at the sick-room 
door. Mrs. Henry had thrown open the shutters and even the 
window, for the temperature was mild. She looked stead- 
fastly before her, where was nothing to see, or only the blue 
of the morning creeping among woods. JJpon the stir of my 
entrance, she did not _ so much as turn about her face: a cir- 
cumstance from which I augured very ill. 

44 Madame," 1 began; and then again, 44 madame;" but 
could make no more of it. Nor yet did Mrs. Henry come to 
my assistance with a word. In this pass I began gathering up 
the papers where they lay scattered on the table; and the first 
thing that struck me, their bulk appeared to have diminished. 


100 


THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 


Once I ran them through, and twice; but the correspondence 
with the secretary of state, on which I had reckoned so much 
against the future, was nowhere to be found. I looked in the 
chimney; amid the smoldering embers, black ashes of paper 
fluttered in the draught; and at that my timidity vanished. 

“ Good God, madame,” cried I, in a voice not fitting for a 
sick-room, “ good God, madame, what have you done with 
my papers?” 

“ I have burned them,” said Mrs. Henry, turning about. 
“ It is enough, it is too much, that you and I have seen them.” 

“ This is a fine night’s work that you have done!” cried 1. 
“ And all to save the reputation of a man that eat bread by 
the shedding of his comrades’, blood, as I do by the shedding 
ink. ” 

“ To save the reputation of that family in which you are a 
servant, Mr. Mackellar,” she returned, “and for which you 
have already done so much. ” 

“ It is a family 1 will not serve much longer,” I cried, “ for 
I am driven desperate. You have stricken the sword out of 
my hands; you have left us all defenseless. 1 had always 
these letters I could shake over his head; and now — what is 
to do? We are so falsely situate, we dare not show the man 
the door; the country would fly on fire against us; and 1 had 
this one hold upon him — and now it is gone — now he may 
come back to-morrow, and we must all sit down with him to 
dinner, go for a stroll with him on the terrace, or take a hand 
at cards, of all things, to divert his leisure! No, madame; 
God forgive you, if he can find it in his heart; for 1 can not 
find it in mine.” 

“ I wonder to find you so simple, Mr. Mackellar,” said Mrs. 
Henry. “ What does this man value reputation? But he 
knows how high we prize it; he knows we would rather die 
than make these letters public; and do you suppose he would 
not trade upon the knowledge? What you call your sword, 
Mr. Mackellar, and which had been one indeed against a man 
of any remnant of propriety, would have been but a sword of 
paper against him. He would smile in your face at such a 
threat. He stands upon his degradation, he makes that his 
strength; it is in vain to struggle with such characters.” She 
cried out this last a little desperately, and then with more 
quiet: “ No, Mr. Mackellar, I have thought upon this matter 
all night, and there is no way out of it. Papers or no papers, 
the door of this house stands open for him; he is the rightful 
heir, forsooth! If we sought to exclude him, all would re- 
dound against poor Henry, and I should see him stoned again 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


101 


upon the streets. Ah! if Henry dies, it is a different matter! 
'They have broke the entail for their own good purposes,; the 
estate goes to my daughter; and 1 shall see who sets a foot 
upon it. But if Henry lives, my poor Mr. Mackellar, and that 
man returns, we must suffer; only this time it will be to- 
gether.” 

On the whole, I was well pleased with Mrs. Henry’s attitude 
of mind; nor could 1 even deny there was some cogency in 
that which she advanced about the papers. 

“ Let us say no more about it,” said I. “1 can only be 
sorry I trusted a lady with the originals, which was an un- 
business-like proceeding at the best. As for what 1 said *of 
leaving the service of the family, it was spoken with the 
tongue only; and you may set your mind at rest. 1 belong to 
Durrisdeer, Mrs. Henry, as if 1 had been born there.” 

I must do her the justice to say she seemed perfectly re- 
lieved; so that we began this morning, as we were to continue 
for so many years, on a proper ground of mutual indulgence 
and respect. 

The same day, which was certainly predicate to joy, we ob- 
served the first signal of recovery in Mr. Henry; and about 
three of the following afternoon, he found his mind again, 
recognizing me by name with the strongest evidences of affec- 
tion. Mrs. Henry was also in the room, at the bed-foot; but 
it did not appear that he observed her. And indeed (the fever 
being gone) he was so weak that he made but the one effort 
and sunk again into a lethargy. The course of his restoration 
was now slow but equal; every day his appetite improved; 
every week we were able to remark an increase both of strength 
and flesh; and before the end of the month, he was out of bed 
and had even begun to be carried in his chair upon the ter- 
race. 

It was perhaps at this time that Mrs. Henry and I were the 
most uneasy in mind. Apprehension for his days was at an 
end; and a worse fear succeeded. Every day we drew con- 
sciously nearer to a day of reckoning; and the days passed on, 
and still there was nothing. Mr. Henry bettered in strength, 
he held long talks with us on a great diversity of subjects, his 
father came and sat with him and went again; and still there 
v •, ) reference to the late tragedy or to the former troubles 

■i had brought it on. Did he remember, and conceal his 
ail knowledge? or was the whole blotted from his mind? 
v as the problem that kept us watching and trembling all 
w hen we were in his company, and held us awake at night 
we were in our lonely beds. We knew not even which 


102 THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 

alternative to hope for, both appearing so unnatural and 
pointing so directly to an unsound brain. Once this fear 
offered, I observed his conduct with sedulous particularity. 
Something of the child he exhibited: a cheerfulness quite for- 
eign to his previous character, an interest readily aroused, and 
then very tenacious, in small matters which he had heretofore 
despised. When he was stricken down, I was his only confi- 
dant, and I may say his only friend, and he was on terms of 
division with his wife; upon his recovery, all was changed, the 
past forgotten, the wife first and even single in his thoughts. 
He turned to her with all his emotions like a child to its 
mother, and seemed secure of sympathy; called her in all his 
needs with something of that querulous familiarity that marks 
a certainty of indulgence; and I must say, in justice to the 
woman, he was never disappointed. To her, indeed, this 
changed behavior was inexpressibly affecting; and 1 think she 
felt it secretly as a reproach; so that I have seen her, in early 
days, escape out of the room that she might indulge herself in 
weeping. But to me the change appeared not natural; and 
viewing it along with all the rest, 1 began to wonder, with 
many head -shakings, whether his reason were perfectly erect. 

As this doubt stretched over many years, endured indeed 
until my master's death, and clouded all our subsequent rela- 
tions, I may well consider of it more at large. When he was 
able to resume some charge of his affairs r I had many oppor- 
tunities to try him with precision. There was no lack of 
understanding, nor yet of authority; but the old continuous 
interest had quite departed; he grew readily fatigued and fell 
to yawning; and he carried into money relations, where it is 
certainly out of place, a facility that bordered upon slackness. 
True, since we had no longer the exactions of the master to 
contend against, there was the less occasion to raise strictness 
into principle or do battle for a farthing. True again, there 
was nothing excessive in these relaxations, or I would have 
been no party to them. But the whole thing marked a 
change, very slight yet very perceptible;, and though no man 
could' say my master had gone at all out of his mind, no man 
could deny that he had drifted from his character. It was the 
same to the end, with his manner and appearance. Some of 
the heat of the fever lingered in his veins: his movements a 
little hurried, his speech notably more voluble, yet neither 
truly amiss. His whole mind stood open to happy impres- 
sions, welcoming these and making much of them; but the 
smallest suggestion of trouble or sorrow he received with visi- 
ble impatience and dismissed again with immediate relief. It 


THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 103 

was to this temper that he owed the felicity of his later days; 
and yet here it was, if anywhere, that you could call the man 
insane. A great part of this life consists in contemplating 
what we can not cure; but Mr. Henry, if he could not dismiss 
solicitude by an effort of the mind, must instantly and at what- 
ever cost annihilate the cause of it; so that he played alter- 
nately the ostrich and the bull. It is to this strenuous cow- 
ardice of pain that I have to set down all the unfortunate and 
excessive steps of his subsequent career. Certainly this was 
the reason of his beating McManus, the groom, a thing so 
much out of all his former practice and which awakened so 
much comment at the time. It is to this again that I must 
lay the total loss of near upon two hundred pounds, more than 
the half of which I could have saved if his impatience would 
have suffered me. But he preferred loss or any desperate ex- 
treme to a continuance of mental suffering. 

All this has led me far from our immediate trouble: whether 
he remembered or had forgotten his late dreadful act; and if 
he remembered, in what light he viewed it. The truth burst 
upon us suddenly, and was indeed one of the chief surprises 
of my life. He had been several times abroad, and was now 
beginning to walk a little with an arm, when it chanced I 
should be left alone with him upon the terrace. He turned to 
me with a singular furtive smile, such as school-boys use when 
in fault; and says he, in a private whisper and without the 
least preface: 

“ Where have you buried him?” 

I could not make one sound in answer. 

“ Where have you buried him?” he repeated. “ 1 want to 
see his grave. 99 

I conceived 1 had best take the bull by the horns. “ Mr. 
Henry,” said I, “ I have news to give that will rejoice you 
exceedingly. In all human likelihood your hands are clear of 
blood. I reason from certain indices; and by these it should 
appear your brother was not dead, but was carried in a swound 
on board the lugger. By now he maybe perfectly recovered.” 

What there was in his countenance, 1 could not read. 
“ James?” he asked. 

“ Your brother James,” I answered. “ I would not raise a 
hope that may be found deceptive; but in my heart I think it 
very probable he is alive.” 

“ Ah!” says Mr. Henry; and suddenly rising from his seat 
with more alacrity than he had yet discovered, set one finger 
on my breast, and cried at me in a kind of screaming whisper, 
“ Mackellar ” — these were his words — “ nothing can kill that 


104 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

man. He is not mortal. He is bound upon my back to all 
eternity— to all God's eternity!" says he, and, sitting down 
again, fell upon a stubborn silence. 

A day or two after, with the same secret smile, and first 
looking about as if to be sure we were alone, “ Mackellar," 
said he, “ when you have any intelligence, be sure and let me 
know. We must keep an eye upon him, or he will take us 
when we least expect." 

“ He will not show face here again," said I. 

“ Oh, yes, he will," said Mr. Henry.- “ Wherever I am 
there will he be." And again he looked all about him. 

‘‘You must not dwell upon this thought, Mr. Henry," 
said I. 

“ No," said he, “ that is very good advice. We will never 
think of it, except when you have news. And we do not know 
yet," he added: “ he may be dead." 

The manner of his saying this convinced me thoroughly of 
what I had scarce ventured to suspect: that so far from 
suffering any penitence for the attempt, he did but lament his 
failure. This was a discovery 1 kept to myself, fearing it 
might do him a prejudice with his wife. But 1 might have 
saved myself the trouble; she -had divined it for herself, and 
found the sentiment quite natural. Indeed, I could not but 
say that there were three of us all of the same mind; nor 
could any news have reached Durrisdeer more generally wel- 
come than tidings of the master's death. * 

This brings me to speak of the exception, my old lord. As 
soon as my anxiety for my old master began to be relaxed, 1 
was aware of a change in the old gentleman, his father, that 
seemed to threaten mortal consequences. 

His face was pale and swollen; as he sat in the chimney-side 
with his Latin, he would drop off sleeping anddhe book roll 
in the ashes; some days he would drag his foot, others stumble 
in speaking. The amenity of his behavior appeared more ex- 
treme; full of excuses for the least trouble, very thoughtful 
for all; to myself, of a most flattering civility. One day, that 
he had sent for his lawyer and remained a long while private, 
he met me as he was crossing the hall with painful footsteps, 
and took me kindly by the hand. “ Mr. Mackellar," said he, 
“ I have had many occasions to set a proper value on your 
services; and to-day, when I recast my will, I have taken the 
freedom to name you for one of my executors. I believe you 
bear love enough to our house to render me this service." At 
that very time, he . passed the greater portion of his days in 
slumber, from which it was often difficult to rouse him; 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 105 

seemed to have lost all count of years and had several times 
(particularly on waking) called for his wife and for an old 
servant whose very, grave-stone was now green with moss. If 
I had been put to my oath, I must have declared he was in- 
capable of testing; and yet there was never a will drawn more 
sensible in every trait, or showing a more excellent judgment 
both of persons and affairs. 

His dissolution, though it took not very long, proceeded by in- 
finitesimal gradations. His faculties decayed together steadily; 
the power of his limbs was almost gone, he was extremely 
deaf, his speech had sunk into mere mumblings; and yet to 
the end he managed to discover something of his former 
courtesy and kindness, pressing the hand of any that helped 
him, presenting me with one of his Latin books in which he 
had laboriously traced my name, and in a thousand ways re- 
minding us of the greatness of that loss, which it might almost 
be said we had already suffered. To the end, the power of 
articulation returned to him in flashes; it seemed he had only 
forgotten the art of speech as a child forgets his lesson, and at 
times he would call some part of it to mind. On the last night 
of his life, he suddenly broke silence with these words from 
Virgil: “ Gnatique pratisque, alma , precor , miserere per- 
fectly uttered and with a fitting accent. At the sudden clear 
sound of it, we started from our several occupations;, but it 
was in vain we turned to him; he sat there silent and to all 
appearance fatuous. A little later, he was had to bed with 
more difficulty than ever before; and some time in the night, 
without any mortal violence, his spirit fled. 

At a far later period, I chanced to speak of these particu- 
lars with a doctor of medicine, a man of so high a reputation 
that I scruple to adduce his name. By his view of it, father 
and son both suffered from the same affection; the father from 
the strain of his unnatural sorrows, the son perhaps in the ex- 
citation of the fever, each had ruptured a vessel on the brain; 
and there was probably (my doctor added) some predisposition 
in the family to accidents of that description. The father 
sunk, the son recovered all the externals of a healthy man; 
but it is like there was some destruction in those delicate 
tissues where the soul resides and does her earthly business; 
her heavenly, I would fain hope, can not be thus obstructed 
by material accidents. And yet upon a more mature opinion, 
it matters not one jot; for He who shall pass judgment on 
the records of our life is the same that formed us in frailty. 

The death of my old lord was the occasion of a fresh surprise 
to us who watched the behavior of his successor. To any con- 


106 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

sidering mind, the two sons had between them slain their fa- 
ther; and he who took the sword might be even said to have 
slain him with his hand. But no such thought appeared to 
trouble my new lord. He was becomingly grave; I could 
scarce say sorrowful, or only with a pleasant sorrow; talking 
of the dead, with a regretful cheerfulness, relating old examples 
of his character, smiling at them with a good conscience; and 
when the day of the funeral came round, doing the honors 
with exact propriety. I could perceive besides, that he found 
a solid gratification in his accession to the title; the which he 
was punctilious in exacting. 

And now there came upon the scene a new character, and 
one that played his part too in the story; I mean the present 
lord, Alexander, whose birth (17th July, 1757) filled the cup 
of my poor master’s happiness. There was nothing then left 
him to wish for; nor yet leisure to wish for it. Indeed, there 
never was a parent so fond and doting as he showed himself. 
He was continually uneasy in his son’s absence. Was the 
child abroad? the father would be watching the clouds in case 
it rained. Was it night? he would rise out of his bed to ob- 
serve its slumbers. His conversation grew even wearyful to 
strangers, since he talked of little but his son. In matters 
relating to the estate^all was designed with a particular eye 
to Alexander; and it would be: “Let us put it in hand at 
once, that the wood maybe grown against Alexander’s ma- 
jority;” or “ this will fall in again handsomely f or Alexander’s 
marriage.” Every day this absorption of the man’s nature 
became more observable, with many touching and some very 
blameworthy particulars. Soon the child could walk abroad 
with him, at first on the terrace hand in hand, and afterward 
at large about the policies; and this grew to be my lord’s chief 
occupation. The sound of their two voices (audible a great 
way off, for they spoke loud) became familiar in the neighbor- 
hood; and for my part I found it more agreeable than the 
sound of birds. It was pretty to s6e the pair returning, full 
of briers, and the father as flushed and sometimes as bemud- 
died as the child; for they were equal sharers in all sorts of 
boyish entertainment, digging in the beach, damming of 
streams, and what not; and I have seen them gaze through a 
fence at cattle with the same childish contemplation. 

The mention of these rambles brings me to a strange scene 
of which I was a witness. There was one walk I never fol- 
lowed myself without emotion, so often had 1 gone there upon 
miserable errands, so much had there befallen against the 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


107 


house of Durrisdeer. But the path lay handy from all points 
beyond the Muckle Ross; and I was driven, although much 
against my will, to take my use of it perhaps once in the two 
months. It befell when Mr. Alexander was of the age of seven 
or eight, I had some business on the far side in the morning, 
and entered the shrubbery on my homeward way, about nine 
of a bright forenoon. It was that time of year when the woods 
are all in their spring colors, the thorns all in flower, and the 
birds in the high season of their singing. In contrast to this 
merriment, the shrubbery was only the more sad and I the 
more oppressed by its associations. In this situation of spirit, 
it struck me disagreeably to hear voices a little way in front, 
and to recognize the tones of my lord and Mr. Alexander. I 
pushed ahead, and came presently into their view. They stood 
together in the open space where the duel was, my lord with 
his hand on his son’s shoulder and speaking with some gravity. 
At least, as he raised his head upon my coming, 1 thought I 
could perceive his countenance to lighten. 

“ Ah,” says he, “ here comes the good Mackellar. I have 
just been telling Sandie the story of this place, and how there 
was a man whom the devil tried to kill, and how near he came 
to kill the devil instead.” 

I had thought it strange enough he should bring the child 
into that scene; that he should actually be discoursing of his 
act, passed measure. But the worst was yet to come; for he 
added, turning to his son: “You can ask Mackellar; he was 
here and saw it. ” 

“Is it true, Mr. Mackellar?” asked the child. “ And did 
you really see the devil?” 

“ I have not heard the tale,” I replied; “ and I am in a 
press of business.” So far I said a little sourly, fencing with 
the embarrassment of the position; and suddenly the bitter- 
ness of the past and the terror of that scene by candle-light 
rushed in upon my mind; I bethought me that, for a differ- 
ence of a second’s quickness in parade, the child before me 
might have never seen the day; and the emotion that always 
fluttered round my heart in that dark shrubbery burst forth in 
words. “ But so much is true,” 1 cried, “ that I have met 
the devil in these woods aud seen him foiled here; blessed be 
God that we escaped with life — blessed be God that one stone 
yet stands upon another in the walls of Durrisdeer! and oh, 
Mr. Alexander, if ever y'ou come by this spot, though it was a 
hundred years hence and you came with the gayest and the 
highest in the land, I would step aside and remember a bit 
prayer. ” 


108 


THE MASTER OE BALLANTRAE. 


My lord bowed his head gravely. 44 Ah," says he, 44 Mac- 
kellar is always in the riglit. Come, Alexander, take your 
bonnet off. " And with that he uncovered and held out his 
hand. 44 Oh, Lord/' said he, 44 1 thank thee, and my son 
thanks thee, for thy manifold great mercies. Let us have 
peace for a little; defend us from the evil man. Smite him, 
oh, Lord, upon the lying mouth!" The last broke out of him 
like a cry; and at that, whether remembered anger choked his 
utterance, or whether he perceived this was a singular sort of 
prayer, at least he came suddenly to a full stop; and after a 
moment, set back his hat upon his head. 

44 1 think you have forgot a word, my lord," said 1. 44 For- 
give us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against 
us. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, 
for ever and ever. Amen." 

44 Ah, that is easy saying," said my lord. 44 That is very 
easy saying, Mackellar. But for me to forgive? I think 1 
would cut a very silly figure, if I had the affectation to pre- 
tend it." 

44 The bairn, my lord," said I, with some severity, for I 
thought his expressions little fitted for the ears of children. 

44 Why, very true," said he. 44 This is dull work for a 
bairn. Let's go nesting." 

I forget if it was the same day, but it was soon after, my 
lord, finding me alone, opened himself a little more on the 
same head. 

44 Mackellar," he said, 44 1 am now a ?ery happy man. " 

44 1 think so indeed, my lord," said 1, 44 and the sight of it 
gives me a light heart. " 

44 There is an obligation in happiness, do you not think so?" 
says he, musingly. 

44 1 think so indeed," says 1, 44 and one in sorrow too. If 
we are not here to try to do the best, in my humble opinion, 
the sooner we are away the better for all parties." 

44 Ay, but if you were in my shoes, would you forgive him?" 
asks my lord. 

The suddenness of the attack a little graveled me. 44 It is 
a duty laid upon us strictly," said I. 

# “ Hut!" said he. 44 These are expressions! Do you for- 
give the man yourself?" 

44 Well — no!" said I. 44 God forgive me, I do not." 

44 Shake hands upon that!" cries my lord, with a kind of 
joviality. 

44 It is an ill sentiment to shake hands upon," said I, 44 for 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 109 

Christian people. I think 1 will give you mine on some more 
evangelical occasion. ” 

This I said, smiling a little; but as for my lord, he went 
from the room laughing -aloud. 

For my lord’s slavery to the child, I can find no expression 
adequate. He lost himself in that continual thought; busi- 
ness, friends, and wife being all alike forgotten or only remem- 
bered with a painful effort, like that of one struggling with a 
posset. It was most notable in the matter of his wife. Since 
I had known Durrisdeer, she had been the burden of his 
thought and the load-stone of his eyes; and now, she was quite 
cast out. I have seen him come to the door of a room, look 
round, and pass my lady over as though she were a dog before 
the fire; it would be Alexaander he was seeking, and my lady 
knew it well. 1 have heard him speak to her so ruggedly, 
that I nearly found it in my heart to intervene; the cause 
would still be the same, that she had in some way thwarted 
Alexander. Without doubt this was in the nature of a judg- 
ment on my lady. Without doubt she had the tables turned 
upon her as only Providence can do it; she who had been cold 
so many years to every $n ark of tenderness, it was her part 
now to be neglected; the more praise to her -that she played it 
well. 

An odd situation resulted: that we had once more two 
parties in the house, and that now I was of my lady’s. Not 
that ever I lost the love I bore my master. But for one thing, 
he had the less use for my society. For another, I could not 
but compare the case of Mr. Alexander with that of Miss Kath- 
arine; for whom my lord had never found the least attention. 
And for a third, I was wounded by the change he discovered 
to his wife, which struck me in the nature of an infidelity. I 
could not but admire besides the constancy and kindness she 
displayed. Perhaps her sentiment to my lord, as it had been 
founded from the first in pity, was that rather of a mother 
than a wife; perhaps it pleased her (if I may so say) to behold 
her two children so happy in each other; the more as one had 
suffered so unjustly in the past. But for all that, and though 
I could never trace in her one spark of jealousy, she must fall 
back for society on poor, neglected Miss Katharine; and I, on 
my part, came to pass my spare hours more and more with 
the mother and daughter. It would be easy to make too much 
of this division, for it was a pleasant family as families go; 
still the thing existed; whether my lord knew it or not, I am 
in doubt, I do not think he did, he was bound up so entirely 


110 THE MASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 

in his son; but the rest of us knew it and (in a manner) suf- 
fered from the knowledge. 

What troubled us most, however, was the great and grow- 
ing danger to the child. My lord was his father over again; 
it was to be feared the son would prove a second master. 
Time has proved these fears to have been quite exaggerate. 
Certainly there is no more worthy gentleman to-day in Scot- 
land than the seventh Lord Burrisdeer. Of my own exodus 
from his employment, it does not become me to speak, above 
all in a memorandum written only to justify his father.* . . 

. . . But our fear at the time was lest he should turn out, 
in the person of his son, a second edition of his brother. My 
lady had tried to interject some wholesome discipline; she had 
been glad to give that up, and now looked on with secret dis- 
may; sometimes she even spoke of it by hints; and sometimes 
when there was brought to her knowledge some monstrous 
instance of my lord's indulgence, she would betray herself in 
a gesture or perhaps an exclamation. As for myself, I was 
haunted by the thought both day and night; not so much for 
the child's sake as for the father's. The man had gone to 
sleep, he was dreaming a dream, and any rough wakening 
must infallibly prove mortal. That he should survive its 
death was inconceivable ; and the fear of its dishonor made me 
cover my face. 

It was this continual preoccupation that screwed me up at 
last to a remonstrance; a matter worthy to be narrated in de- 
tail. My lord and 1 sat one day at the same table upon some 
tedious business of detail; I have said that he had lost his 
former interest in such occupations; he was plainly itching to 
be gone, and he looked fretful, weary, and, methought, older 
than I had ever previously observed. 1 suppose it was the 
haggard face that put me suddenly upon my enterprise. 

“ My lord," said I, with my head down, and feigning to 
continue my occupation — “ or rather let me call you again by 
the name of Mr. Henry, for I fear your anger and want you 
to think upon old times — " 

“ My goodMackellar!" said he; and that in tones so kindly 
that I had near forsook my purpose. But I called to mind 
that I was speaking for his good, and stuck to my colors. 

* [Editor's ISTote.— Five pages of Mr. Mackellar’s MS. are here omit- 
ted. 1 have gathered from their perusal an impression that Mr. Mac- 
kellar, in his old age, was rather an exacting servant. Against the 
seventh Lord Durrisdeer (with whom, at any rate, we have no concern) 
nothing material is alleged.— R.L.S.] 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. Ill 

u Has it never come in upon your mind what you are do- 
ing? 1 asked. 

44 What I am doing?” he repeated, 44 1 was never good at 
guessing riddles.” 

4 4 What you are doing w T ith your son,” said 1. 

44 Well,” said he, with some defiance in his tone, 44 and 
what am 1 doing with my son?” 

44 Your father was a very good man,” says I, straying from 
direct the path. 44 But do you think he was a wise father?” 

There was a pause before he spoke, and then: 44 1 say noth- 
ing against him,” he replied. 44 1 had the most cause per- 
haps; but I say nothing.” 

44 Why, .there it is,” said I. 44 You had the cause at least. 
And yet j^our father was a good man; I never knew a -better, 
save on the one point, nor yet a wiser. Where he stumbled, 
it is highly possible another man should fall. He had the two 
sons — ” 

My lord rapped suddenly and violently on the table. 

44 What is this?” cried he. 44 Speak out!” 

44 1 will, then,” said I, my voice almost strangled with the 
thumping of my heart. 44 If you continue to indulge Mr. 
Alexander, you are following in your father's footsteps: Be- 
ware, my lord, lest (when he grows up) your son should follow 
in the master's. ” 

I had never meant to put the thing so crudely; but in the 
extreme of fear, there comes a brutal kind of courage, the 
most brutal indeed of all; and I burned my ships with that plain 
word. 1 never had the answer. When 1 lifted my head, my 
lord had risen to his feet, and the next moment he fell heavily 
on the floor. The fit or seizure endured not very long: he 
came to himself vacantly, put his hand to his head which I 
was then supporting, and says he, in a broken voice: 44 1 have 
been ill,” and a little after: 44 Help me!” 1 got him to his 
feet, and he stood pretty well, though he kept hold of the 
table. 44 1 have been ill, Mackellar,” he said again. 44 Some- 
thing broke, Mackellar — or was going to break, and then all 
swam away. I think I was very angry. Never you mind, 
Mackellar, never you mind, my man. I wouldnae hurt a hair 
upon your head. Too much has come and gone. It's a cer- 
tain thing between us two. But I think, Mackellar, I will go 
to Mrs. Henry — I think I will go to Mrs. Henry,” said he, 
and got pretty steadily from the room, leaving me overcome 
with penitence. 

Presently the door flew open, and my lady swept in with 
flashing eyes. 44 What is all this?” she cried. 44 What have 


112 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


you done to my husband? Will nothing teach you your posi- 
tion in this house? Will you never cease from making and 
meddling ?* 9 

“ My lady/* said 1, “ since I have been in this house, 1 
have had plenty of hard words. For awhile they were my daily 
diet, and I swallowed them all. As for to-day, you may call 
me what you please; you will never find the name hard enough 
for such a blunder. And yet I meant it for the best.” 

I told her all with ingenuity, even as it is written here; and 
when she had heard me out, she pondered, and I could see her 
animosity fall. “Yes,” she said, “you meant well indeed. 
I have had the same thought myself, or the same temptation 
rather, which makes me pardon you. But, dear God, can 
you not understand that he can bear no more? He can bear 
no more!” she cried. “ The cord is stretched to snapping. 
What matters the future, if he have one or two good days?” 

“ Amen,” said I. “I will meddle no more. '1 am 
pleased enough that you should recognize the kindness of my 
meaning.” 

“ Yes,” said my lady, “ but when it came to the point, 1 
have to suppose your courage failed you; for what you said 
was said cruelly.” She paused, looking at me; then suddenly 
smiled a little, and said a singular thing: “ Do you know 
what you are, Mr. Mackellar! You are an old maid.” 

No more incident of any note occurred in the family until 
the return of that ill-starred man, the master. But I have to 
place here a second extract from the memoirs of Chevalier 
Burke, interesting in itself and highly necessary for my pur- 
pose. It is our only sight of the master on his Indian travels; 
and the first word in' these pages of Secundra Dass. One fact, 
it is to observe, appears here very clearly, which if we had 
know some twenty years ago, how many calamities and sorrows 
had been spared! — that Secundra Dass spoke English. 


ADVENTURE OF CHEVALIER BURKE IN INDIA. 

(Extracted from his Memoirs.) 

. . . Here was I, therefore, on the streets of that city, the 
name of which I can not call to mind, while even then I was 
so ill acquainted with its situation that 1 knew not whether to 
go south or north. The alert being sudden, I had run forth 
without shoes or stockings; my hat had been struck from my 
head iu the mellay; my kit was in the hands of the English; I 
had no companion but the cipaye, no weapon but my sword, 
and the devil a coin in my pocket. In short I was for all the 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


113 


world like one of those calendars with whom Mr. Galland has 
made us acquainted in his elegant tales. These gentlemen, 
you will remember, were forever falling in with extraordinary 
incidents; and I was myself upon the brink of one so astonish- 
ing that 1 protest I can not explain it to this day. 

The cipaye was a very honest man, he had served many 
years with the French colors, and would have let hknself be 
cut to pieces for any of the brave countrymen of Mr. Lally. 
It is the same fellow (his name has quite escaped me) of whom 
I have narrated already a surprising instance of generosity of 
mind: when he found Mr. de Fessac and myself upon the 
ramparts, entirely overcome with liquor, and covered us with 
straw while the commandant was passing by. 1 consulted him 
therefore with perfect freedom. It was a fine question what to 
do; but we decided at last to escalade a garden wall, where we 
could certainly sleep in the shadow of the trees, and might 
perhaps find an occasion to get hold of a pair of slippers and 
a turban. In that part of the city we had only the difficulty 
of the choice, for it was a quarter consisting entirely of walled 
gardens, and the lanes which divided them were at that hour 
of the night deserted. 1 gave the cipaye a back, and we had 
soon dropped into a large inclosure full of trees. The place 
was soaking with the dew which, in that country, is exceed- 
ingly unwholesome, above all to whites; yet my fatigue was so 
extreme that I was already half asleep, when the cipaye re- 
called me to my senses. In the far end of the inclosure a 
bright light had suddenly shone out, and continued to burn 
steadily among the leaves. It was a circumstance highly un- 
usual in such a place and hour; and in our situation, it be- 
hooved us to proceed' with some timidity. The cipaye was sent 
to reconnoiter, and pretty soon returned with the intelligence 
that we had fallen extremely amiss, for the house belonged to 
a white man who was in all likelihood English. 

“ Faith,” says 1, “if there is a white man to be seen, 1 will 
have a look at him; for the Lord be praised! there are more 
sorts than the one!” 

The cipaye led me forward accordingly to a place from, 
which I had a clear view upon the house. It was surrounded 
with a wide veranda; a lamp, very well trimmed, stood upon 
the floor of it; and on either side of the lamp there sat a man, 
cross-legged after the Oriental maimer. Both, besides, were 
bundled up in muslin like two natives; and yet ope of them 
was not only a white man, but a man very well known to me 
and the reader: being indeed that' very master of Ballantrae of 
whose gallantry and genius I have had to speak so often. 


114 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


Word had reached me that he was come to the Indies; though 
we had never met at least, and I heard little of his occupations. 
But sure, 1 had no sooner recognizged him, and found myself 
in the arms of so old a comrade, than I supposed my tribula- 
tions were quite done. I stepped plainly forth into the light 
of the moon, which shone exceeding strong, and hailing Bal- 
lantrae by name, made him in a few words master of my 
grievous situation. He turned, started the least thing in the 
world, looked me fair in the face while I was speaking, and 
when I had done, addressed himself to his companion in the 
barbarous native dialect. The second person, who was of an 
extraordinary delicate appearance, with legs like walking-canes 
and fingers like the stalk of a tobacco pipe* now rose to his 
feet. 

“ The sahib,” says he, “ understands no English language. 
I understand it myself, and I see you make some small mis- 
take — oh, which may happen very often! But the sahib would 
be glad to know how you come in a garden / 9 

‘ 4 Ballantrae!” I cried. “ Have you the damned impudence 
to deny me to my face?” 

Ballantrae never moved a muscle, staring at me like an 
image in a pagoda. 

“The sahib understands no English language,” says the 
native, as glib as before. “He be glad to know how you 
.come in a garden.” 

“ Oh, the divil fetch him!” says 1. “He would be glad to 
know how I come in a garden, would he? Well now, my dear 
man, just have the civility to tell the sahib, with my kind 
love, that we are two solders here whom he never met and 
never heard of, but the cipaye is a broth of a boy, and I am a 
broth of a boy myself; and if we don’t get a full meal of 
meat, and a turban, and slippers, and the value of a gold 
mohur in small change as a matter of convenience, bedad, my 
friend, I could lay my finger on a garden where there is going 
to be trouble. ” 

They carried their comedy so far as to converse awhile in 
Hindoostanee; and then, says the Hindoo, with the same smile, 
but sighing as if he were tired of the repetition: “ The sahib 
would be glad to know how you come in a garden.” 

“ Is that the way of it?” says 1, and laying my hand on my 
sword-hilt, I bade the cipaye draw. 

Ballantrae’s Hindoo, still smiling, pulled out a pistol from 

* Note by Mr. Mackellar. — Plainly Secunda Bass. E. McK. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


115 


his bosom, and though Ballantrae himself never moved a 
muscle, I knew him well enough to be sure he was prepared. 

44 The sahib thinks you better go away,” says the Hindoo. 

Well, to be plain, it was what I was thinking myself; for 
the report of a pistol would have been, under Providence, the 
means of hauging the pair of us. 

“ Tell the sahib, I consider him no gentleman,” says 1, and 
turned away with a gesture of contempt. 

I was not gone three steps when the voice of the Hindoo 
called me back. 4 4 The sahib would be glad to know if you 
are a damn low Irishman,” says he; and at the words Bal- 
lantrae smiled and bowed very low. 

44 What is that?” says I. 

^The sahib say you ask your friend Mackellar,” says the 
Hindoo. 44 The sahib he cry quits.” 

44 Tell the sahib I will give him a cure for the Scots fiddle 
when next we meet,” cried I. 

The pair were still smiling as 1 left. 

There is little doubt some flaws may be picked in my own 
behavior; and when a man, however gallant, appeals to pos- 
terity with an account of his exploits, he must almost certainly 
expect to share the fate of Caesar and Alexander, and to meet 
with some detractors. But there is one thing that can never 
be laid at the door of Francis Burke: he never turned his back 
on a friend. ... 

(Here follows a passage which the Chevalier Burke has been 
at the pains to delete before sending me his manuscript. 
Doubtless it was some very natural complaint of what he sup- 
posed to be an indiscretion on my part; though, indeed, I can 
call none to mind. Perhaps Mr. Henry was less guarded; or 
it is just possible the master found the means to examine my 
correspondence, and himself read the letter from Troyes: in 
revenge for which this cruel jest' was perpetrated on Mr. 
Burke in his extreme necessity. The master, for all his wick- 
edness, was not without some natural affection; I believe he 
was sincerely attached to Mr. Burke in the beginning; but the 
thought bf treachery dried up the springs of his very shallow 
friendship, and his detestable nature appeared naked. — E. 
McK.) 


THE ENEMY IN THE HOUSE. 

It is a strange thing that I should be at a stick for a date — 
the date, besides, of an incident that changed the very nature 
of my life, and sent us all into foreign lands. But the truth 


116 


THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 


is I was stricken out of all my habitudes, and find my journals 
very ill redd-up,* the day not indicated sometimes for a week 
or two together, and the whole fashion of the thing like that 
of a man near desperate. It was late in March at least, or 
early in April, 1764. I had slept heavily and wakened with a 
premonition of some evil to befall. So strong was this upon 
my spirit, that I hurried down-stairs in my shirt and breeches, 
and my hand (I remember) shook upon the rail. It was a 
cold, sunny morning with a thick white frost; the blackbirds 
sung exceeding sweet and loud about the house of Durrisdeer, 
and there was a noise of the sea in all the chambers. As I 
came by the doors of the hall, another sound arrested me, of 
voices talking. I drew nearer and stood like a man dreaming. 
Here was certainly a human voice, and that in my own mas- 
ter’s house, and yet I knew it not; certainly human speech, 
and that in my native land; and yet listen as I pleased, I could 
not catch one syllable. An old tale started up in my mind of 
a fairy wife (or perhaps only a wandering stranger), that came 
to the place of my fathers some generations back, and stayed 
the matter of a week, talking often in a tongue that signified 
nothing to the hearers; and went again as she had come, under 
cloud of night, leaving not so much as a name behind her. A 
little fear 1 had, but more curiosity; and I opened the hall 
door and entered. 

The supper things still lay upon the table; the shutters were 
still closed, although day peeped in the divisions; and the great 
room was lighted only with a single taper and some lurching 
reverberation of the fire. Close in the chimney sat two men. 
The one that was wrapped in a cloak and wore boots, I knew 
at once: it was the bird of ill omen back again. Of the other, 
who was set close to the red embers, and made up into a 
buudle like a mummy, I could but see that he was an alien, 
of a darker hue than any man of Europe, very frailly built, 
with a singular tall forehead and a secret eye. Several bun- 
dles and a small valise were on the floor; and to judge by the 
smallness of this luggage, and by the condition of the master’s 
boots, grossly patched by some unscrupulous country cobbler, 
evil had not prospered. 

He rose upon my entrance; our eyes crossed; and 1 know not 
why it should have been, but my courage rose like a lark on a 
May morning. 

“ Ha!” said I, “is this you?” — and I was pleased with the 
unconcern of my own voice. 


* Ordered. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


117 


4 4 It is even myself, worthy Mackellar,” says the master. 

44 This time you have brought the black dog visibly upon 
your back,” 1 continued. 

“ Referring to Secundra DaSs?” asked the master. 44 Let 
me present you. He is a Native gentleman of India.” 

44 Hum!” said I. 44 1 am no great lover either of you or 
your friends, Mr. Bally. But 1 will let a little daylight in and 
have a look at you. ” And so saying, I undid the shutters of 
the eastern window. 

By the light of the morning, I could perceive the man was 
changed. Later, when we were all together, I was more struck 
to see how lightly time had dealt with him; but the first 
glance was otherwise. 

44 You are getting an old man,” said I. 

A shade came upon his face. 44 If you could see yourself,” 
said he, 44 you would perhaps not dwell upon the topic.” 

44 Hut!” I returned, “ old age is nothing to me. 1 think 1 
have been always old; and 1 am now, I thank God, better 
known and more respected. It is not every one that can say 
that,, Mr. Bally! The lines in your brow are calamities; your 
life begins to close in upon you like a prison; death will soon 
be rapping at the door; and I see not from what source you 
are to draw your consolations.” 

Here the master addressed himself to Secundra Bass in 
Hindoostanee; from which I gathered (I freely confess, with a 
high degree of pleasure) that my remarks annoyed him. All 
this while, you may be sure, my mind had been busy upon 
other matters even while I rallied my enemy; and chiefly as 
to how I should communicate secretly and quickly with my 
lord. To this, in the breathing-space now given me, 1 turned 
all the forces of my mind; when, suddenly shifting my eyes, 1 
was aware of the man himself standing in the door-way, and to 
all appearance quite composed. He had no sooner met my 
looks than he stepped across the threshold. The master heard 
him coming, and advanced upon the other side; about four 
feet apart, these brothers came to a full pause and stood ex- 
changing steady looks and then my lord smiled, bowed a little 
forward, and turned briskly away. 

44 Mackellar,” says he, 44 we must see to breakfast for these 
travelers. ” 

It was plain the master was a trifle disconcerted; but he 
assumed the more impudence of speech and manner. 44 1 am 
as hungry as a hawk,” says he. 44 Let it be something good, 
Henry.” 


118 THE HASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 

My lord turned to him with the same hard smile. 44 Lord 
Durrisdeer,” says he. 

“ Oh, never in the family!” returned the master.. 

44 Every one in this house renders me my proper title,” says 
my lord. 44 If it please you to make an exception, I will leave 
you to consider what appearance it will bear to strangers, and 
whether it may not be translated as an effect of impotent 
jealousy. ” 

I could have clapped my hands together with delight : the 
more so as my lord left no time for any answer, but, bidding 
me with a sign to follow him, went* straight out of the hall. 

4 4 Come quick,” says he, 44 we have to sweep vermin from 
the house.” And he sped through the passages with so swift 
a step that I could scarce keep up with him, straight to the 
door of John Paul, the which he opened without summons and 
walked in. John was to all appearance sound asleep, but my 
lord made no pretense of waking him. 

44 John Paul,” said he, speaking as quietly as ever I heard 
him, 44 you served my father long, or I would pack you from 
the house like a dog. If in half an hour’s time I find you 
gone, you shall continue to receive your wages in Edinburgh. 
If you linger here or in St. Bride’s — the old man, old servant, 
and altogether — I shall find some very astonishing way to 
make you smart for your disloyalty. Up, and begone. The 
door you let them in by will serve for your departure. 1 do 
not choose my son shall see your face again.” 

44 1 am rejoiced to find you bear the thing so quietly,” said 
1, wiien we were forth again by ourselves. 

44 Quietly!” cries he, and put my hand suddenly against his 
heart, which struck upon his bosom like a sledge. 

At this revelation I was filled with wonder and fear. There 
was no constitution could bear so violent a strain — his least of 
all, that was unhinged already; and 1 decided in my mind that 
we must bring this monstrous situation to an end. 

44 It would be well, I think, if 1 took word to my lady,” 
said I. Indeed, he should have gone himself, but I counted 
(not in vain) on his indifference. 

44 Ay,” says be, 44 do. I will hurry breakfast: we must all 
appear at the table, even Alexander; it must appear we are 
untroubled.” 

I ran to my lady’s room, and, with no preparatory cruelty, 
disclosed my news. 

44 My mind was long ago made up,” said she. 44 We must 
make our packets secretly to-day, and leave secretly to-night. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 119 

Thank Heaven, we have another house! The first ship that 
sails shall bear us to New York// 

4 4 And what of him?” I asked. 

“We leave him Durrisdeer,” she cried. “Let him work 
his pleasure upon that ” 

“ Not so, by your leave,” said I. 44 There shall be a dog 
at his heels that can hold fast. Bed he shall have, and board, 
and a horse to ride upon, if he behave himself; but the keys 
(if you think well of it, my lady) shall be left in the hands of 
one Mackellar. There will be good care taken; trust him for 
that.” 

44 Mr. Maekellar,”she cried, 44 1 thank you for that thought! 
All shall be left in your hands. If we must go into a savage 
country, I bequeath it to you to take our vengeance. Send 
Macconochie to St. Bride's, to arrange privately for horses and 
to call the lawyer. My lord must leave procuration.” 

At that moment my lord came to the door, and we opened 
our plan to him. 

44 1 will never hear of it,” he cried; 44 he would think I 
feared him. I will stay in my own house, please God, until I 
die. There lives not the man can beard me out of it. Once 
and for all, here I am and here I stay, in spite of all the devils 
in hell. ” I can give no idea of the vehemency of his words 
and utterance; but we both stood aghast, and I in particular, 
who had been a witness of his former self-restraint. 

My lady looked at me with an appeal that went to my heart 
and recalled me to my wits. I made her a private sign to go, 
and, when my lord and I were alone, went up to him where 
he was racing to and fro in one end of the room like a half 
lunatic, and set my hand firmly on his shoulder. 

44 My lord,” says 1, 44 1 am going to be the plain-dealer once 
more; if for the last time, so much the better, for I am grown 
weary of the part. ” 

44 Nothing will change me,” he answered. 44 God forbid I 
should refuse to hear you; but nothing will change me.” 
This he said firmly, with no signal of the former violence, 
which already raised my hopes. 

44 Very well,” said I. 44 1 can afford to waste my breath.” 
I pointed to a chair, and he sat down and looked at me. • 44 1 
can remember a time when my lady very much neglected 
you,” said 1. 

44 1 never spoke of it while it lasted,” returned my lord, 
with a high flush of color; 44 and it is all changed now.” 

44 Do you know flow much?” I said. 44 Do you know how 
much it is all changed? The tables are turned, my lord! It 


120 


THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 


is my lady that now courts you for a word, a look, ay, and 
courts you in vain. Do you know with whom she passes her 
days while you are out gallivanting in the policies? My lord, 
she is glad to pass them with a certain dry old grieve * of the 
name of Ephraim Mackellar; and I think you may he able to 
remember what that means, for I am the more in a mistake 
or you were once driven to the same company yourself. ” 

“ Mackellar !” cries my lord, getting to his feet. “ Oh, 
my God, Mackellar!” 

“ It is neither the name of Mackellar nor the name of God 
that can change the truth,” said I; “ and I am telling you 
the fact. Now, for you, that suffered so much, to deal out 
the same suffering to another, is that the part of any Chris- 
tian? But you are so swallowed up in your new friend that 
the old are all forgotten. They are all clean vanished from 
your memory. And yet they stood by you at the darkest; my 
lady not the least. And does my lady ever cross your mind? 
Does it ever cross your mind what she went through that 
night? — or what manner of a wife she has been to you thence- 
forward? — or in what kind of a position she finds herself to- 
day? Never. It is your pride to stay and face him out, and 
she must stay along with him. Oh, my lord’s pride— that’s 
the great affair! And yet she is the woman, and you are a 
great, hulking man! She is the woman that you swore to pro- 
tect; and, more betoken, the own mother of that son of 
yours!” 

‘‘You are speaking very bitterly, Mackellar,” said he; 
“ but, the Lord knows, I fear you are speaking very true. 1 
have not proved worthy of my happiness. Bring my lady 
back.” 

My lady was waiting near at hand to learn the issue. When 
I brought her in, my lord took a hand of each of us and laid 
them both upon his bosom. “ I have had two friends in my 
life,” said he. “ All the comfort ever I had, it came from 
one or other. When you two are in a mind, I think 1 would 
be an ungrateful dog — ” He shut his mouth very hard, and 
looked on us with swimming eyes. “ Do what ye like with 
me,” says he, “ only don’t think — ” He stopped again. 
“ Do what ye please with me. God knows I love and honor 
you.” And dropping our two hands, he turned his back and 
went and. gazed out of the window. But my lady ran after, 
calling his name, and threw herself upon his neck in a passion 
of weeping. 


* Laud steward. 


THE MASTEK OF B ALLAN a. -A E. [21 

1 went out and shut the door behind me, an 
thanked God from the bottom of my heart. 

At the breakfast hoard, according to my lord's design, . 
were all met. The master had by that time plucked off his 
patched boots and made a toilet suitable to the hour; Secundra 
Gass was no longer bundled up in wrappers, but wore a decent 
plain black suit, which misbecame him strangely; and the pair 
were at the great window looking forth, when the family en- 
tered. They turned; and the black man (as they had already 
named him in the house) bowed almost to his knees, but the 
master was for running forward like one of the family. My 
lady stopped him, courtesying low from the far end of the 
hall, and keeping her children at her back. My lord was a 
little in front: so there were the three cousins of Gurrisdeer 
face to face. The hand of time was very legible on all. I 
seemed to read in their changed faces a memento mori ; and 
what affected me still more, it was the wicked man that bore 
his years the handsomest. My lady was quite transfigured 
into the matrou, a becoming woman for the head of a great 
tableful of children and dependents. My lord was grown 
slack in his limbs; he stooped; he walked with a running 
motion, as though he had learned again from Mr. Alexander; 
his face was drawn; it seemed a trifle longer than of old; and 
it wore at times a smile very singularly mingled, and which 
(in my eyes) appeared both bitter and pathetic. But the mas- 
ter still bore himself erect, although perhaps with effort; his 
brow barred about the center with imperious lines, his mouth 
set as for command. He had all the gravity and something 
of the splendor of Satan in the “ Paradise Lost." I could not 
help but see the man with admiration, and was only surprised 
that I saw him with so little fear. 

But indeed (as long as we were at the table) it seemed as if 
his authority were quite vanished and his teeth all drawn. We 
had known him a magician that controlled the elements; and 
here he was, transformed into an ordinary gentleman, chatting 
like his neighbors at the breakfast board. For now the father 
was dead, and my lord and lady reconciled, in what ear was 
he to pour his calumnies? It came upon me in a kind of vis- 
ion how hugely 1 had overrated the man's subtlety. He had 
his malice still, he was false as ever; and, the occasion being 
gone that made his strength, he sat there impotent; he was 
still the viper, but now spent his venom on a file. Two more 
thoughts occurred to me while yet we sat at breakfast: the 
first, that he was abashed — I had almost said distressed — to 


122 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

find his wickedness quite unavailing; the second, that perhaps 
my lord was in the right, and we did amiss to fly from our dis- 
masted enemy. But my poor master's leaping heart came in 
my mind, and I remembered it was for his life we played the 
coward. 

When the meal was over, the master followed me to my 
room, and, taking a chair (which I had never offered him), 
asked me what was to be done with him. 

44 Why, Mr. Bally/’ said I, 44 the house will still be open to 
you for a time. " 

44 For a time?" says he. 44 I do not know if I quite take 
your meaning." 

4 £ It is plain enough/' said I. 44 We keep you for our repu- 
tation; as soon as you shall have publicly disgraced yourself 
by some of your misconduct, we shall pack you forth again." 

44 You are become an impudent rogue," said the master, 
bending his brows at me dangerously. 

“ 1 learned in a good school," I returned. 44 And you must 
have perceived yourself that with my old lord's death your 
power is quite departed. I do not fear you now, Mr. Bally; I 
think even — God forgive me — that I take a certain pleasure in 
your company. " 

He broke out in a burst of laughter, which I clearly saw to 
be assumed. 

44 I have come with empty pockets," says he, after a pause. 

44 1 do not think there will be any money going," 1 replied. 
44 I would advise you not to build on that." 

44 1 shall have something to say on the point," he returned. 

44 Indeed?" said I. 44 1 have not a guess what it will be, 
then." 

44 Oh, you affect confidence," said the master. 44 1 have 
still one strong position — that you people fear a scandal, and I 
enjoy it. " 

44 Pardon me, Mr. Bally," says I. 44 We do not in the least 
fear a scandal against you." 

Hedaughed again. 44 You have been studying repartee," 
he said. 44 But speech is very easy, and sometimes very de- 
ceptive. I warn you fairly: you will find me vitriol in the 
house. You would do wiser to pay money down, and see my 
back. " And with that, he waved his hand to me and left the 
room. 

A little after, my lord came with the lawyer, Mr. Carlyle; a 
bottle of old wine was brought, and we all had a glass before 
we fell to business. The necessary deeds were then prepared 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 123 

and ''executed, and the Scotch estates made over in trust to 
Mr. Carlyle and myself. 

“ There is one point, Mr. Carlyle,” said my lord, when 
these affairs had been adjusted, “ on which I wish that you 
would do us justice. This sudden departure coinciding with 
my brother’s return will be certainly commented on. I wish 
you would discourage any conjunction of the two.” 

“ 1 will make a point of it, my lord,” said Mr. Carlyle. 
“ The mas — Mr. Bally does not then accompany you?” 

“ It is a point I must approach,” said my lord. 44 Mr. Bally 
remains at Durrisdeer under the care of Mr. Mackellar; and I 
do not mean that he shall even know our destination.” 

“ Common report, however — ” began the lawyer. 

“Ah, but, Mr. Carlyle, this is to be a secret quite among 
ourselves,” interrupted my lord. “ None but you and Mac- 
kellar are to be made acquainted with my movements.” 

“ And Mr. Bally stays here? Quite so,” said Mr. Carlyle. 
“ The powers you leave — ” Then he broke off again. “ Mr. 
Mackellar, we have a rather heavy weight upon us.” 

“No doubt, sir,” said I. 

“ No doubt,” said he. “ Mr. Bally will have no voice?” 

“ He will have no voice,” said my iord, “ and I hope no in- 
fluence. Mr. Bally i& not a good adviser.” 

“I see,” said the lawyer. “By the way, has Mr. Bally 
means?” 

“ I understand him to have nothing,” replied my lord. “ I 
give him table, fire, and candle in this house.” 

“ And in the matter of an allowance? If I am to share the 
responsibility, you will see how highly desirable it is that 1 
should understand your views,” said the lawyer. “ On the 
question of an allowance?” * 

“ There will be no allowance,” said my Lord. “ I wish 
Mr. Bally to live very private. We have not always been 
gratified with his behavior. ” 

“ And in the matter of money,” 1 added, “ he has shown 
himself an infamous bad husband. Glance your eye upon 
that docket, Mr. Carlyle, where 1 have brought together the 
different sums the man has drawn from the estate in the last 
fifteen or twenty years. The total is pretty. ” 

Mr. Carlyle made the motion of whistling. “ 1 had no 
guess of this,” said he. “ Excuse me once more, my lord, if 
I appear to push you; but it is really desirable I should pene- 
trate your intentions: Mr. Mackellar might die, when I should 
find myself alone upon this trust. Would it not be rather 


124 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


your lordship’s preference that Mr. Bally should — ahem — 
should leave the country?” 

My lord looked at Mr. Carlyle. 4 4 Why do you ask that?” 
said he. 

44 1 gather, my lord, that Mr. Bally is not a comfort to his 
family,” says the lawyer with a smile. 

My lord’s face became suddenly knotted. 44 1 wish he was 
in hell,” cried he, and filled himself a glass of wine, but with 
a hand so tottering that he spilled the half into his bosom. 
This was the second time that, in the midst of the most regu- 
lar and wise behavior, his animosity had spurted out. It 
startled Mr. Carlyle, who observed my lord thenceforth with 
covert curiosity, and to me it restored the certainty that we 
were acting for the best in view of my lord’s health and rea- 
son. 

Except for this explosion, the interview was very success- 
fully conducted. No doubt Mr. Carlyle would talk; as law- 
yers do, little by little. We could thus feel we had laid the 
foundations of a better feeling in the country; and the man’s 
own misconduct would certainly complete what we had begun. 
Indeed, before his departure, the lawyer showed us there had 
already gone abroad some glimmerings of the truth. 

44 1 should perhaps explain to you, my lord,” said he, paus- 
ing, with his hat in his hand, 44 that I have not been altogether 
surprised with your lordship’s dispositions in the case of Mr. 
Bally. Something of this nature oozed out when he was last 
in Durrisdeer. There was some talk of a woman at St. 
Bride’s, to whom you had behaved extremely handsome, and 
Mr. Bally with no small degree of cruelty. There was the 
entail again, which was much controverted. In short, there 
was no want of talk, back and forward; and some of our wise- 
acres took up a strong opinion. I remained in suspense, as 
became one of my cloth; but Mr. Mackellar’s docket here has 
finally opened my eyes. I do not think, Mr. Mackellar, that 
you and I will give him that much rope.” 

The rest of that important day passed prosperously through. 
It was our policy to keep the enemy in view, and I took my 
turn to be his watchman with the rest. I think his spirits rose 
as he perceived us to be so attentive: and I know that mine 
insensibly declined. What chiefly daunted me was the man’s 
singular dexterity to worm himself into our troubles. You 
may have felt (after a horse accident) the hand of a bone-set- 
ter artfully divide and interrogate the muscles, and settle 
strongly on the injured place? It was so with the master’s 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


125 


tongue that was so cunning to question, and his eyes that were 
so quick to observe. I seemed to have said nothing, and yet 
to have let all out. Before 1 knew where 1 was, the man was 
condoling with me on my lord's neglect of my lady and my- 
self, and his hurtful indulgence to his son. On this last point 
I perceived him (with panic fear) to return repeatedly. The 
boy had displayed a certain shrinking from his uncle; it was 
strong in my mind his father had been fool enough to indoc- 
trinate the same, w^ich was no wise beginning: and when 1 
looked upon the man before me, still so handsome, so apt a 
speaker, with so great a variety of fortunes to relate, I saw he 
was the very personage to captivate a boyish fancy. John 
Paul had left only that morning; it was not to be supposed he 
had been altogether dumb upon his favorite subject: so that 
here would be Mr. Alexander in the part of Dido, with a 
curiosity inflamed to hear; and there would be the master 
like a diabolical iEneas, full of matter the most pleasing in 
the world to any youthful ear, such as battles, sea-disasters, 
flights, the forests of the west, and (since his later voyage) the 
ancient cities of the Indies. How cunningly these baits might 
be employed, and what an empire might be so founded, little 
by little, in the mind of any boy, stood obviously clear to me. 
There was no inhibition, so long^as the man was in the house, 
that would be strong enough to hold these two apai * If It 
be hard to charm serpents, it is no very difficult th; . > oast 
a glamour on a little chip of manhood not ver ; hi 
breeches. I recalled an ancient sailor-man who < • in a 

lone house beyond the Figgate Whins (I believe he :oUed 
after Portobello), and how the boys would troop out ot i^eith 
on a Saturday, and sit and listen to his swearing tales, as thick 
as crows about a carrion: a thing I often remarked as I went 
by, a young student, on my own more meditative holiday 
diversion. Many of these boys went, no doubt, in the face of 
an express command; many feared and even hated the old 
brute of whom they made their Hero; and I have seen them 
flee from him when he was tipsy, and stone him when he was 
drunk. And yet there they came each Saturday! How much 
more easily would a boy like Mr. Alexander fall under the in- 
fluence of a high-looking, high-spoken gentleman adventurer, 
who should conceive the fancy to entrap him; and, the influ- 
ence gained, how easy to employ it for the child's perversion! 

1 doubt if our enemy had named Mr. Alexander three times, 
before 1 perceived which way his mind was aiming — all this 
train of thought and memory passed in one pulsation through 
my own — and you may say I started back as though an open 


126 THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 

hole had gaped across a pathway. Mr. Alexander: there was 
the weak point, there was the Eve in our perishable paradise; 
and the serpent was already hissing on the trail. 

I promise you I went the more heartily about the prepara- 
tions; my last scruple gone, the danger of delay written before 
me in huge characters. From that moment forth, I seem not 
to have sat down or breathed. Now 1 would be at my post 
with the master and his Indian; now in the garret buckling a 
valise; now sending forth Macconochie by the side postern and 
the wood-path to bear it to the trysting- place; and again, 
snatching some words of counsel with my lady. This was the 
verso of our life in Durrisdeer that day; but on the recto all 
appeared quite settled, as of a family at home in its paternal 
seat; and what perturbation may have been observable the 
master would set down to the blow of his unlooked-for coming 
and the fear he was accustomed to inspire. 

Supper went creditably oh, cold salutations passed, and the 
company trooped to their respective chambers. I attended 
the master to the last. "We had put him next door to his In- 
dian, in the north wing; because that was the most distant and 
could be severed from the body of the house with doors. I 
saw he was a kind friend or a good master (whichever it was) 
to his Secundra Dass: seeing to his comfort; mending the lire 
with his own hand, for the Indian complained of cold; inquir- 
ing as to the rice on which the stranger made his diet; talking 
with him pleasantly in the Hindoostanee, while 1 stood by, my 
qandle in my hand, and affected to be overcome with slumber. 
At length the master observed my signals of distress. “ I 
perceive,” says he, “ that you have all your ancient habits: 
early to bed and early to rise. Yawn yourself away!” 

Once in my own room, 1 made the customary motions of 
undressing, so that I might time myself; and when the cycle 
was complete, set my tinder-box ready and blew out my taper. 
The matter of an hour afterward, 1 made a light again, put 
on my shoes of list that I had worn by my lord’s sick-bed, and 
set forth into the house to call the voyagers. All were dressed 
and waiting— my lord, my lady, Miss Katharine, Mr. Alexan- 
der, my lady’s woman Christie; and I observed the effect of 
secrecy even upon quite innocent persons, that one after an- 
other showed in the chink of the door a face as white as paper. 
We slipped out of the side postern into a night of darkness, 
scarce broken by a star or two; so that at first we groped and 
stumbled and fell a^nong the bushes. A few hundred yards 
up the wood -path, Macconochie was waiting us with a great 
lantern; so the rest of the way we went easy enough, but still 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


127 


in a kind of guilty silence. A little beyond the abbey, the 
path debouched on the main road; and some quarter of a mile 
further, at the place called Eagles, where the moors begin, 
we saw the lights of the two carriages stand shining by the 
wayside. Scarce a word or two was uttered at our parting, 
and these regarded business; a silent grasping of hands, a 
turning of faces aside, and the thing was over; the horses 
broke into a trot, the lamp-light sped like will-o’-the-wisp 
upon the broken moorland, it dipped beyond Stony Brae; and 
there were Macconochie and I alone with our lantern on the 
road. There was one thing more to wait for; and that was 
the reappearance of the coach upon Cartmore. It seems they 
must have pulled up upon the summit, looked back for a last 
time, and seen our lantern not yet moved away from the place 
of separation. For a lamp was taken from a carriage, and 
waved three times up and down by way of a farewell. And 
then they were gone indeed, having looked their last on the 
kind roof of Durrisdeer, their faces toward a barbarous coun- 
try. I never knew before the greatness of that vault of night 
in which we two poor serving-men, the one old and the one 
elderly, stood for the first time deserted; I had never felt be- 
fore my own dependency upon the countenance of others. 
The sense of isolation burned in my bowels like a fire. It 
seemed that we who remained at home were the true exiles; 
and that Durrisdeer, and Sol wayside, and all that made my 
country native, its air good to me, and its language welcome, 
had gone forth and was for over the sea with my old masters. 

The remainder of that night I paced to and fro on the 
smooth highway, reflecting on the future and the past. My 
thoughts, which at first dwelled tenderly on those who were 
just gone, took a more manly temper as I considered what re- 
mained for me to do. > Day came upon the inland mountain- 
tops, and the fowls began to cry and the smoke of homesteads 
to arise in the brown bosom of the moors, before I turned my 
face homeward and went down the path to where the roof of 
Durrisdeer shone in the morning by the sea. / 

At the customary hour I had the master called, and awaited 
his coming in the hall with a quiet mind. He looked about 
him at the empty room and the three covers set. 

“ We are a small party/’ said he. “ How comes that?” 

“ This is the party to which we must grow accustomed,” I 
replied. 

He looked at me with a sudden sharpness. “ What is all 
this?” said he. 


128 THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 

“You and I and your friend Mr. Dass are now all the 
company/* 1 replied. " “ My lord, my lady, and the children 
are gone upon a voyage. ** 

“ Upon my word!** said he. “ Can this be possible? I 
have indeed fluttered your Volscians in Corioli! But this is no 
reason why our breakfast shouJd go cold. Sit down, Mr. Mac- 
kellar, if you please ** — taking, as he spoke, the head of the 
table, which I had designed to occupy myself— “ and as we 
eat, you can give me the details of this evasion.” 

I could see he was more affected than his language carried, 
and 1 determined to equal him in coolness. “ I was about to 
ask you to take the head of the table,” said I; “ for though 1 
am now thrust into the position of your host, I could never 
forget that you were, after all, a member of the family.” 

For awhile he played the part of entertainer, giving direc- 
tions to Macconochie, who received them with an evil grace, 
and attending specially upon Secundra. “ And where has my 
good family withdrawn to?** he asked, carelessly. 

“ Ah, Mr. Bally, that is another point!*- said 1. “I have 
no orders to communicate their destination. ” 

“ To me/* he corrected. 

“ To any one/* said I. 

“It is the less pointed/ * said the master; “ c’est de Ion 
ton : my brother improves as he continues. And I, dear Mr. 
Mackeliar?** 

“ You will have bed and board, Mr. Bally,” said I. “1 
am permitted to give you the run of the cellar, which is pretty 
reasonably stocked. You have only to keep well with me, 
which is no very difficult matter, and you shall want neither 
for wine nor a saddle-horse.** 

He made an excuse to send Macconochie from the room. 

“ And for money?** he inquired. “ Have I to keep well 
with my good friend Mackeliar for my pocket-money also? 
Tins is a pleasing return to the principles of boyhood.** 

“ There was no allowance made/* said I; “ but I will take 
it on myself to see you are supplied in moderation.** 

“ In moderation?* 9 he repeated. “ And you will take it on 
yourself?** He drew himself up and looked about the hall at 
the dark rows of portraits. “ In the name of my ancestors, I 
thank you/* says he; and then, with a return to irony: “ But 
there must certainly be an allowance for Secundra Dass?** he 
said. “ It is not possible they have omitted that.** 

‘ k I will make a note of it and ask instructions when I 
write/* said I. 

And he, with a sudden change of manner, and leaning for- 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. t, 129 

ward with an elbow on the table: 44 Do you think this entirely 
wise?” 

44 1 execute my orders, Mr. Bally,” said I. 

44 Profoundly modest,” said the master; 44 perhaps not 
equally ingenuous. You told me yesterday my power was 
fallen with my father’s death. How comes it, then, that a 
peer of the realm flees under cloud of night out of a house in 
which his fathers have stood several sieges? that he conceals 
his address, which must be a matter of concern to his gracious 
majesty and to the whole republic? and that he should leave 
me in possession, and under the paternal charge of his in- 
valuable Mackellar? This smacks to me of a very considera- 
ble and genuine apprehension.” 

I sought to interrupt him with some not very truthful de- 
negation; but he waved me down and pursued his speech. 

44 1 say it smacks of it,” he said, 44 but I will go beyond 
that, for I think the apprehension grounded. 1 came to this 
house with some reluctancy. In view of the manner of my 
last departure, nothing but necessity could have induced me 
to return. Money, however, is that which I must have. You 
will not give with a good grace; well, I have the power to 
force it from you. Inside of a week, without leaving Durris- 
deer, I will find out where these fools are fled to. 1 will fol- 
low; and when I have run my quarry down, I will drive a 
wedge into that family that shall once more burst it into 
shivers. 1 shall see then whether my Lord Durrisdeer ” (said 
with indescribable scorn and rage) 44 will choose to buy my 
absence; and you will all see whether, by that time, I decide 
for profit or revenge.” 

I was amazed to hear the man so open. The truth is, he 
was consumed with anger at my lord’s successful flight, felt 
himself to figure as a dupe, and was in no humor to weigh 
language. 

44 Do you consider this entirely wise?” said I, copying his 
words. 

44 These twenty years I have lived by my poor wisdom,” he ' 
answered, with a smile that seemed almost foolish in its 
yanity. 

44 And come out a beggar in the end,” said I, 44 if beggar 
be a strong enough word for it. ” 

44 1 would have you to observe, Mr. Mackellar,” cried he, 
with a sudden, imperious heat in which I could not but admire 
him, 44 that I am scrupulously civil; copy me in that, and we 
shall be the better friends.” 

Throughout this dialogue I had been incommoded by the 


130 «» THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 

observation of Secundra Dass. Not one of us, since the first 
word, had made a feint of eating; our eyes were in each 
other’s faces — you might say, in each other’s bosoms; and 
those of the Indian troubled me with a certain changing bright- 
ness, as of comprehension. But I brushed the fancy aside; 
telling myself once more he understood no English; only, 
from the gravity of both voices and the occasional scorn and 
anger in the master’s, smelled out there was something of im- 
port in the wind. 

For the matter of three weeks we continued to live together 
in the house of Durrisdeer; the beginning of that most singu- 
lar. chapter of my life — what I must call my intimacy with the 
master. At first he was somewhat changeable in his behavior; 
now civil, now returning to his old manner of flouting me to 
my face: and in both I met him half-fray. Thanks be to 
Providence, I had now no measure to keep with the man; and 
I was never afraid of black brows, only of naked swords. So 
that I found a certain entertainment in these bouts of in- 
civility, and was not always ill-inspired in my‘ 'rejoinders. At 
last (it was at supper) 1 had a droll expression that entirely 
vanquished him. He laughed again and again; and “ Who 
would have guessed,” he cried, “ that this old wife had any 
wit under his petticoats?” 

“It is no wit, Mr. Bally,” said I; “a dry Scot’s humor, 
and something of the driest.” And indeed I never had the 
least pretension to be thought a wit. 

From that hour he was never rude with me, but all passed 
between us in a manner of pleasantry. One of our chief times 
of daffing* was when he required a horse, another bottle, or 
some money; he would approach me then after the manner of 
a school-boy, and I would carry it on by way of being his fa- 
ther; on both sides, with an infinity of mirth. I could not 
but perceive that he thought more of me, which tickled that 
poor part of mankind, the vanity. He dropped besides (I 
must suppose unconsciously) into a manner that was not only 
familiar, but even friendly; and this, on the part of one who 
had so long detested me, I found the more insidious. He 
went little abroad; sometimes even refusing invitations. 
“ No,” he would say, “ what do I care for these thick-headed 
bonnet-lairds? I will stay at home, Mackellar; and we shall 
share a bottle quietly and have one of our good talks.” And 
indeed meal-time at Durrisdeer must have been a delight to 


* Fooling. 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 131 

any one, by reason of the brilliancy of the discourse. He 
would often express wonder at his former indifference to my 
society. “But, you see,” he would add, “ we were upon op- 
posite sides. And so we are to-day; but let us never speak of 
that. I would think much less of you if you were not stanch 
to your employer.” You are to consider, he seemed to me 
quite impotent for any evil; and how it is a most engaging 
form of flattery when (after many years) tardy justice is done 
to a man’s character and parts. But 1 have no thought to ex- 
cuse myself. I was to blame; I let him cajole me; and, in 
short, 1 think the watch-dog was going sound asleep, when he 
was suddenly aroused. 

I should say the Indian was continually traveling to and fro 
in the house. He never spoke, save in his own dialect and 
with the master; walked without sound; and was always turn- 
ing up where you would least expect him fallen into a deep 
abstraction, from which he would start (upon your coming) to 
mock you with one of his groveling obeisances. He seemed 
so quiet, so frail, and so wrapped in his own fancies, that 1 
came to pass him over without much regard, or even to pity 
him for a harmless exile from his country. And yet without 
doubt the creature was still eavesdropping; and without doubt 
it was through his stealth and my security that our secret 
reached the master. 

It was one very wild night, after supper, and when we had 
been making more than usually merry, that the blow fell on 
me. 

“ This is all very fine,” says the master, “ but we should do 
better to be buckling our valise.” 

“ Why so?” I cried. “ Are you leaving?” 

“ We are all leaving to-morrow in the morning,” said he. 
“ For the port of Glasgow first; thence for the province of 
Hew York.” 

I suppose I must have groaned aloud. 

“ Yes,” he continued, “ I boasted; I said a week, and it 
has taken me near twenty days. But never mind; I shall 
make it up; I will go the faster.” 

“ Have you the money for this voyage?” 1 asked. 

“ Dear and ingenuous personage, I have,” said he. “ Blame 
me, if you choose, for my duplicity; but while I have been 
wringing shillings from my daddy, I had a stock of my own 
put by against a rainy day. You will pay for your own pas- 
sage, if you choose to accompany us on our flank march; 1 
have enough for Secundra and myself, but not more; enough 
to be dangerous, not enough to be generous. There is, how- 


132 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


ever, an outside seat upon the chaise which I will let you have 
upon a moderate commutation; so that the whole menagerie 
can go together, the house-dog, the monkey, and the tiger. ” 

44 I go with you,/” said 1. 

44 J count upon it,” said the master. 44 You have seen me 
foiled, I mean you shall see me victorious. To gain that, I 
will risk wetting you like a sop in this wild weather.” 

44 And at least,” I added, “ you know very well you could 
not throw me off. ” 

44 Not easily," said he. 44 You put your finger on the point 
with your usual excellent good sense. I never fight with the 
inevitable.” 

44 I suppose it is useless to appeal to you,” said I. 

44 Believe me, perfectly,” said he. 

44 And yet if you would give me time, 1 could write — ” I 
began. 

“ And what would be my Lord Durrisdeer’s answer?” asks 
he. 

44 Ay,” said I, 44 that is the rub.” 

4 4 And at any rate, how much more expeditious that I 
should go myself!” says he. 44 But all this is quite a waste 
of breath. At seven to-morrow the chaise will be at the door. 
For I start from the door, Mackellar; I do not skulk through 
woods and take my chaise upon the way -side — shall we say, at 
Eagles?” 

My mind was now thoroughly made up. 44 Can you spare 
me quarter of an hour at St. Bride’s?” said I. 44 1 have a 
little necessary business with Carlyle.” 

44 An hour, if you prefer,” said he. 44 1 do not seek to 
deny that the money for your seat is an object to me; and 
you could always get the first to Glasgow with saddle-horses.” 

44 Well,” said 1, 44 1 never thought to leave old Scotland.” 

44 It will brisken you up,” says he. 

“ This will be an ill journey for some one,” I said. 44 1 
think, sir, for you. Something speaks in my bosom; and so 
much it says plain, That this is an ill-omened journey.” 

44 If you take to prophecy,” says he, 44 listen to that.” 

There came up a violent squall off the open Solway, and the 
rain was dashed on the great windows, 

44 Do ye ken what that bodes, warlock?” said he, in a broad 
accent: 44 that there’ll be a man Mackellar unco sick at sea.” 

. When I got to my chamber, 1 sat there under a painful ex- 
citation, hearkening to the turmoil of the gale which struck 
full upon that gable of the house. What with the pressure on 
my spirits, the eldritch cries of the wind among the turret- 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


133 


tops, and the perpetual trepidation of the masoned house, 
sleep fled my eyelids utterly. I sat by my taper, looking on 
the black panes of the window where the storm appeared con- 
tinually on the point of bursting in its entrance; and upon 
that empty field I beheld a perspective of consequences that 
made the hair to rise upon my scalp. The child corrupted, 
the home broken up, my master dead or worse than dead, my 
mistress plunged in desolation— all these I saw before me 
painted brightly on the darkness; and the outcry of the wind 
appeared to mock at my inaction. 


ME. MACKELLAE'S JOUENEY WITH THE MASTEE. 

The- chaise came to the door in a strong drenching mist. 
We took our leave in silence: the house of Durrisdeer stand- 
ing with dropping gutters and windows closed, like a place 
dedicate to melancholy. I observed the master kept his head 
out, looking back on these splashed walls and glimmering 
roofs, till they were suddenly swallowed in the mist; and I 
must suppose some natural sadness fell upon the man at this 
departure; or was it some prevision of the end? At least, 
upon our mounting the long brae from Durrisdeer, as we 
walked side by side in the wet, he began first to whistle and 
then to sing the saddest of our country tunes, which sets folk 
weeping in a tavern, “ Wandering Willie. ” The set of words 
he used with it I have not heard elsewhere, and could never 
come by any copy; but some of them which were the most 
appropriate to our departure linger in my memory. One verse 
began: 

Home was home then, my dear, full of kindly faces; 

Home was home theu, my dear, happy for the child. 

And. ended somewhat thus: 

Now, when day dawns on the brow of the moorland. 

Lone stands the house and the chimney-stone is cold. 

Lone let it stand, now the folks are all departed. 

The kind hearts, the true hearts, that loved the place of old. 

1 could never be a judge of the merit of these verses; they 
were so hallowed by the melancholy of the air, and were sung 
(or rather “ soothed ”) to me by a master singer at a time so 
fitting. He looked in my face when he had done, and saw 
that my eyes watered. 

“ Ah, Mackellar,* said he, “do you think I have never a 
regret?” 


134 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


“ I do not think you could be so bad a man,” said I, “if 
you had not all the machinery to be a good one.”, 

“ No, not all,” says he: “ not all. You are there in error. 
The malady of not wanting, my evangelist.” But methought 
he sighed as he mounted again into the chaise. 

All day long we journeyed in the same miserable weather: 
the mist besetting us closely, the heavens incessantly weeping 
on my head. The road lay over moorish hills, where was no 
sound but the crying of the moor-fowl in the wet heather and 
the pouring of the swollen burns. Sometimes I would doze 
off in slumber, when I would find myself plunged at once in 
some foul and ominous nightmare, from the which I would 
awaken strangling. Sometimes, if the way was steep and the 
wheels turning slowly, 1 would overhear the voices from 
within, talking in that tropical tongue which was to me as 
inarticulate as the piping of the fowls. Sometimes, at a 
longer ascent, the master would set foot to ground and walk 
by my side, mostly without speech. And all the time, sleep- 
ing or waking, I beheld the same black perspective of ap- 
proaching ruin; and the same pictures rose in my view, only 
they were now painted upon hill-side mist. One, 1 remember, 
stood before me with the colors of a true illusion. It showed 
me my lord seated at a table in a small room; his head, which 
was at first buried in his hands, he slowly raised, and turned 
upon me a countenance from which hope had fled. I saw it 
first on the black window panes, my last night in Durrisdeer; 
it haunted and returned upon me half the voyage through; 
and yet it was no effect of lunacy, for 1 have come to a ripe 
old age with no decay of my intelligence; nor yet (as I was then 
tempted to suppose) a heaven-sent warning of the future, for 
all manner of calamities befell, not that calamity — and I saw 
many pitiful sights, but never that one. 

It was decided we should travel on all night; and it was 
singular, once the dusk had fallen, my spirits somewhat rose. 
The bright lamps, shining forth into the mist and on the 
smoking horses and the hodding post-boy, gave me perhaps an 
outlook intrinsically more cheerful than what day had shown:; 
or perhaps my mind had become wearied of its melancholy. 
At least, I spent seme waking hours, not without satisfaction 
in my thoughts, although wet and weary in my body; and fell 
at last into a natural slumber without dreams. Yet I must 
have been at work even in the deepest of my sleep; and at 
work with at least a measure of intelligence. For I started 
broad awake, in the very act of crying out to myself 
Home was home then, my dear, happy for the child, 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


135 


stricken to find in it an appropriateness, which I had not 
yesterday observed, to the master’s detestable purpose in the 
present journey. 

We were then close upon the city of Glascow, where we were 
soon breakfasting together at an inn, and where (as the devil 
would have it) we found a ship in the very article of sailing. 
We took places in the cabin; and, two days after, carried our 
effects on board. Her name was the “ Nonesuch,” a very 
ancient ship and very happily named. By all accounts this 
should be her last voyage ; people shook their heads upon the 
quays, and I had several warnings offered me by strangers in 
the street, to the effect that she was rotten as a cheese, too 
deeply loaden, and must infallibly founder if we met a gale. 
From this it fell out we were tlie only passengers; the captain, 
McMurtrie, was a silent, absorbed man with the Glascow or 
Gaelic accent; the mates ignorant, rough seafarers, come in 
through the hawsehole; and the master and I were cast upon 
each other’s company. 

The “ Nonesuch ” carried a fair wind out of the Ctyde, and 
for near upon a week we enjoyed bright weather and a sense 
of progress. I found myself (to my wonder) a born seaman, 
in so far at least as I was never sick; yet I was far from tast- 
ing the usual serenity of my health. Whether it was the 
motion of the ship on the billows, the confinement, the salted 
food, or all of these together, I suffered from a blackness of 
spirit and a painful strain upon my temper. The nature of 
my errand on that ship perhaps contributed; 1 think it did no 
more: the malady (whatever it was) sprung from my environ- 
ment; and if the ship were not to blame, then it was the 
master. Hatred and fear are ill bedfellows; but (to my 
shame be it spoken) I have tasted those in other places, lain 
down and got up with them, and eaten and drunk with them, 
and yet never before, nor after, have I been so poisoned 
through and through, in soul and body, as I was on board 
the “ Nonesuch.” I freely confess my enemy set me a fair 
examjfie of forbearance; in our worst days displayed the most 
patient geniality, holding me in conversation as long as I 
would suffer, and when I had rebuffed his civility, stretching 
himself on deck to read. The book he had on board with him 
was Mr. Richardson’s famous “Clarissa”; and among other 
small attentions he would read me passages aloud; nor could 
any elocutionist have given with greater potency the pathetic 
portions of that work. 1 would retort upon him with passages 
out of the Bible, which was all my library— and very fresh to 
me, my religious duties (1 grieve to say it) being always and 


136 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


even to' this day extremely neglected. He tasted the merits of 
the work like the connoisseur he was; and would sometimes 
take it from my hand, turn the leaves over like a man that 
knew his way, and give me, with his fine declamation, a 
Roland for my Oliver. But it was singular how little he ap- 
plied his reading to himself; it passed high above his head like 
summer thunder: Lovelace and Clarissa, the tales of David’s 
generosity, the psalms of his penitence, the solemn questions 
of the book of Job, the touching poetry of Isaiah— they were 
to him a source of entertainment only, like the scraping of a 
fiddle in a change-house. This outer sensibility and inner 
toughness set me against him; it seemed of a piece with that 
impudent grossness which I knew to underlie the veneer of his 
fine manners; and sometimes my gorge rose against him as 
though he were deformed — and sometimes I would draw away 
as though from something partly spectral. I had moments 
when 1 thought of him-as of a man of pasteboard — as though, 
if one should strike smartly through the buckram of his coun- 
tenance, there would be found a mere vacuity within. This 
horror (not merely fanciful, I think) vastly increased my de- 
testation of his neighborhood; I began to feel something shiver 
within me on his drawing near; I had at times a longing to 
cry out; there were days when I thought I could have struck 
him. This frame of mind was doubtless helped by shame, be- 
cause I had dropped during our last days at Durrisdeer into a 
certain toleration of the man; and if any one had then told 
me I should drop into it again, 1 must have laughed in his, 
face. It is possible he remained unconscious of this extreme' 
fever of my resentment; yet I think he was too quick; and 
rather that he had fallen, in a long life of idleness, into a 
positive need of company, which obliged him to confront and 
tolerate my unconcealed aversion. Certain at least, that he 
loved the note of his own tongue, as indeed he entirely loved 
all the parts and properties of himself : a sort of imbecility 
which almost necessarily attends on wickedness. 1 have seen 
him driven, when I proved recalcitrant, to long discourses ] 
with the skipper: and this, although' the man plainly testified 
his weariness, fiddling miserably with both hand and foot, and 
replying only with a grunt. 

After the first week out, we fell in with foul winds and 
heavy weather. The sea was high. The “ Nonesuch,” being 
an old-fashioned ship and badly loaden, rolled beyond belief; 
so that the skipper trembled for his masts and I for my life. 

We made no progress on our course. An unbearable ill-humor 
settled on the ship: men, mates and master, girding at one 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 137 

another all day long. A saucy word on the one hand, and a 
blow on the other, made a daily incident. There were times 
when the whole crew refused their duty; and we of the after- 
guard were twice got under arms (being the first time that 
ever 1 bore weapons) in the fear of mutiny. 

In the midst of ou$ evil season sprung up a hurricane of 
wind; so that all supposed she must go down. I was shut in 
the cabin from noon of one day till sundown of the next; 
the master was somewhere lashed on deck. Secundra had 
eaten of some drug and lay insensible; so you may say 
I passed these hours in an unbroken solitude. At first I 
was terrified beyond motion and almost beyond thought, 
my mind appearing to be frozen. Presently there stole in 
on me a ray of comfort. If the “ Nonesuch " foundered, 
she would carry down with her into the deeps of that un- 
sounded sea the creature whom we all so feared and hated; 
there would be no more Master of Ballantrae, the fish would 
sport among his ribs; his schemes all brought to nothing, 
his harmless enemies at peace. At first, I have said, it 
was but a ray of comfort; but it had soon grown to be broad 
sunshine. The thought of the man's death, of his deletion 
from this world which he imbittered for so many, took posses- 
sion of my mind. I hugged it, I found it sweet in my belly. 
I conceived the ship's last plunge, the sea bursting upon all 
sides into the cabin, the brief mortal conflict there, all by my- 
self, in that closed place; I numbered the horrors, I had al- 
most said with satisfaction; I felt I could bear all and more, 
if the “ Nonesuch" carried down with her, overtook by the 
same ruin, the enemy of my poor master's house. Toward 
noon of the second day, the screaming of the wind abated; the 
ship lay not so perilously over; and it began to be clear to me 
that we were past the height of the tempest. As 1 hope for 
mercy, 1 was singly disappointed. In the selfishness of that 
vile, absorbing passion of hatred, I forgot the case of our 
innocent shipmates and thought but of myself and my enemy. 
For myself, I was already old, I had never been young, I was 
not formed for the world's pleasures, I had few affections; it 
mattered not the toss of a silver tester whether I was drowned 
there and then in the Atlantic, or dribbled out a few more 
years, to die, perhaps no less terribly, in a deserted sick-bed. 
Down 1 went upon my knees — holding on by the locker, or 
else I had been instantly dashed across the tossing cabin— and, 
lifting up my voice in the midst of that clamor of the abating 
hurricane, impiously prayed for my own death. “ Oh, God," 
I cried, “ I would be liker a man if I rose and struck this 


138 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


creature down; but thou madest me a coward from my 
mother’s womb. Oh, Lord, thou madest me so, thou know- 
est my weakness, thou knowest that any face of death will set 
me shaking in my shoes: But lo! here is thy servant ready, 
his mortal weakness laid aside. Let me give my life for this 
creature’s; take the two of them, I^ml ! take the two, and 
have mercy on the innocent!” In some such words as these, 
only yet more irreverent and with more sacred adjurations, I 
continued to pour forth my spirit; God heard me not, I must 
suppose in mercy; and l.was still absorbed in my agony of 
supplication, when some one, removing the tarpaulin cover, 
let the light of the sunset pour into the cabin. I stumbled to 
my feet ashamed, and was seized with surprise to find myself 
totter and ache like one that had been stretched upon the 
rack. Secundra Dass, who had slept off the effects of his 
drug, stood in a corner not far off, gazing at me with wild 
eyes; and from the open sky-light the captain thanked me for 
my supplications. 

“ It’s you that saved the ship, Mr. Mackellar,” says he. 
“ There is no craft of seamanship that could have kept her 
floating: well may we say: ‘Except the Lord the city keep, 
the watchmen watch in vain!’ ” 

I was abashed by the captain’s, error; abashed, also, by the 
surprise and fear with which the Indian regarded me at first, 
and the obsequious civilities with which he soon began to 
cumber me. I know now that he must have overheard and 
comprehended the peculiar nature of my prayers. It is cer- 
tain, of course, that he at once disclosed the matter to his 
patron; and looking back with greater knowledge, I can now 
understand, what so much puzzled me at the moment, those 
singular and '(so to speak) approving smiles with which the 
master honored me. Similarly, I can understand a word that 
I remember to have fallen from him in conversation that same 
night; when, holding up his hand and smiling, “Ah, Mackel- 
lar,” said he, “not every man is so great a coward as he 
thinks he is— nor yet so good a Christian.” He did not guess 
how true he spoke! For the fact is, the thoughts which had 
come to me in the violence of the storm retained their hold 
upon my spirit; and the words that rose to my lips unbidden 
in the instancy of prayer continued to sound in my ears: 
With what shameful consequences, it is fitting 1 should 
honestly relate; for I could not support a part of such dis- 
loyalty as to describe the sins of others and conceal my own. 

The wind fell, but the sea hove ever the higher. All night 
the “ Nonesuch ” rolled outrageously; the next day dawned., 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


139 


and the next, and brought no change. To cross the cabin was 
scarce possible; old, experienced seamen were cast down upon 
the deck, and one cruelly mauled in the concussion; every 
board and block in the old ship cried out aloud; and the 
great bell by the anchor-bitts continually and dolefully rang. 
One of these days the master and I sate alone together at the 
break of the poop. I should say the “ Nonesuch ” carried a 
high, raised poop. About the top of it ran considerable bul- 
warks, which made the ship un weatherly; and these, as they 
approached the front on each side, ran down in a line, old- 
fashioned, carven scroll to join the bulwarks of the waist. 
From this disposition, which seems designed rather for orna- 
ment than use, it followed there was a discontinuance of pro- 
tection : and that, besides, at the very margin of the elevated 
part where (in certain movements of the ship) it might be the 
most needful. It was here we were sitting: our feet hanging 
down, the master betwixt me and the side, and I holding on 
with both hands to the grating of the cabin sky-light; for it 
struck me it was a dangerous position, the more so as I had 
continually before my eyes a measure of our evolutions in the 
person of the master, which stood out in the break of the bul- 
warks against the sun. Now his head would be in the zenith 
and his shadow fall quite beyond the “ Nonesuch ” on the 
further side; and now he would swing down till he was under- 
neath my feet, and the line of the sea leaped high above him 
like the ceiling of a room. I looked on upon this with a 
growing fascination, as birds are said to look on snakes. My 
mind besides was troubled with an astonishing diversity of 
noises; for now that we had all sails spread in the vain hope 
to bring her to the sea, the ship sounded like a factory with 
their reverberations. We spoke first of the mutiny with which 
we had been threatened; this led us on to the topic of assas- 
sination; and that offered a temptation to the master more 
strong than he was able to resist. He must tell me a tale, 
and show me at the same time how clever he was and how 
wicked. It was a thing he did always with affectation and 
display; generally with a good effect. But this tale, told in a 
high key in the midst of so great a tumult, and by a narrator 
who was one moment looking down at me from the skies and 
the next peering up from under the soles of my feet — this 
particular tale, I say, took hold upon me in a degree quite 
singular. 

My friend the count, ” it was thus that he began his story, 
“ had for an enemy a certain German baron, a stranger in 
Home. It matters not what was the ground of the count's 


140 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


enmity; but as he had a firm design to be revenged, and that 
with safety to himself, he kept it secret even from the baron. 
Indeed that is the first principle of vengeance; and hatred be- 
trayed is hatred impotent. The count was a man of a curious, 
searching mind; he had something of the artist; if anything 
fall for him to do,, it must always be done with an exact per- 
fection, not only as to the result but in the very means and 
instruments, or he thought the thing miscarried. It chanced 
he was one day riding in the outer suburbs, when he came to 
a disused by-road branching off into the moor which lies about 
Rome. On the one hand was an ancient Roman tomb; on 
the other a deserted house in a garden of evergreen- trees. 
This road brought him presently into a field of ruins, in the 
midst of which, in the side of a hill, he saw an open door and 
(not far off) a single stunted pine no greater than a currant- 
bush. The place was desert and very secret: a voice spoke in 
the count’s bosom that there was something here to his ad- 
vantage. He tied his horse to the pine-tree, took his flint and 
steel in his hand to make a light, and entered into the hill. 
The door-way opened on a passage of old Roman masonry, 
which shortly after branched in two. The count took the 
turning to the right, and followed it, groping forward in the 
dark, till he was brought up by a kind of fence, about elbow- 
high, which extended quite across the passage. Sounding for- 
ward with his foot, he found an edge of polished stone, and 
then vacancy. All his curiosity was now awakened, and, get- 
ting some rotten sticks that layabout the floor, he made a fire. 
In front of him was a profound well: doubtless some neigh- 
boring peasant had once used it for his water, and it was he 
that had set up the fence. A long while the count stood 
leaning on the rail and looking down into the pit. It was of 
Roman foundation, and, like all that nation set their hands 
to, built as for eternity: the sides were still straight and the 
joints smooth; to a man who should fall in, no escape was pos- 
sible. 4 Now/ the count was thinking, ‘a strong impulsion 
brought me to this p>lace: what for? what have I gained? why 
should 1 be sent to gaze into this well?’ — when the rail of the 
fence gave suddenly under his weight, and he came within an 
ace of falling headlong in. Leaping back to save himself, he 
trod out the last flicker of his fire, which gave him thencefor- 
ward no more light, only an incommoding smoke. 4 Was I 
sent here to my death?’ says he, and shook from head to foot. 
And then a thought flashed in his mind. He crept forth on 
hands and knees to the brink of the pit and felt above him in 
the air. . The rail had been fast to a pair of uprights; it ha’d 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 141 

only broken from the one, and. still depended from the other. 
The count set it back again as he had found it, s6 that the 
place meant death to the first comer; and groped out of the 
catacomb like a sick man. The next day, riding in the Corso 
with the baron, he purposely betrayed a strong preoccupation. 
The other (as he had designed) inquired into the cause; 
and he (after some fencing) admitted that his spirits had 
been dashed by an unusual dream. This was calculated to 
draw on the baron — a superstitious man who affected the scorn 
of superstition. Some rallying followed; aud then the count 
(as if suddenly carried away) called on his friend to beware, 
for it was of him that he had dreamed. You know enough of 
human nature, my excellent Mackellar, to be certain of one 
thing: I mean, that the baron did not rest till he had heard 
the dream. The count (sure that he would never desist) kept 
him in play till his curiosity was highly inflamed, and then 
suffered himself with seeming reluctance to be overborne. 4 1 
Warn you/ says he, ‘ evil will come of it; something tells me 
so. But since there is to be no peace either for you or me ex- 
cept on this condition, the blame be on your own head! This 
was the dream. I beheld you riding, I know not where, yet I 
think it must have been near Borne, for on your one hand was 
an ancient tomb and on the other a garden of evergreen-trees. 
Methought I cried and cried upon you to come back in a very 
agony of terror; whether you heard me, I know not, but you 
went doggedly on. The road brought you to a desert place 
among ruins: where was a door in a hill-side, and hard by the 
door a misbegotten pine. Here you dismounted (I still crying 
on you to beware), tied your horse to the pine-tree, and en- 
tered resolutely in by the door. Within it was dark; but in 
my dream I could still see you, and still besought you to hold 
back. You felt your way along the right-hand wall, took a 
branching passage to the right, and came to a little chamber, 
where was a well with a railing. At this (I know not why) 
my alarm for you increased a thousand-fold, so that I seemed 
to scream myself hoarse with warnings, crying it was still time 
and bidding you begone at once from that vestibule. Such 
was the word I used in my dream, and it seemed then to have 
a clear significancy; but to-day and awake, I profess I know 
not what it means. To all my outcry you rendered not the 
least attention, leaning the while upon the rail and looking 
down intently in the water. And then there was made to you 
a communication, 1 do not think I even gathered what it was, 
but the fear of it plucked me clean out of my slumber, and I 
awoke shaking and sobbing. And nofr/ continues the count, 


142 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


4 I thank you from my heart for your insistency. This dream 
lay on me like a load; and now I have told it in plain words 
and in the broad daylight, it seems no great matter/ 4 I do 
not know/ says the baron. 4 It is in some points strange. A 
communication, did you say? Oh, it is an odd dream. It will 
make a story to amuse our friends/ 4 1 am not so sure/ says 
the count. 4 1 am sensible of some reluctancy. Let us rather 
forget it/ 4 By all means/ says the baron. And (in fact) 
the dream was not again referred to. Some days after, the 
count proposed a ride in the fields, which the baron (since they 
were daily growing faster friends) very readily accepted. On 
the way back to Rome, the count led them insensibly by a par- 
ticular route. Presently he reined in his horse, clapped his 
hand before his eyes, and cried out aloud. Then he showed 
his face again (which was now quite white, for he was a con- 
summate actor) and stared upon the baron. 4 What ails you?’ 
cries the baron. 4 What is wrong with you ?’ 4 Nothing/ 

cries the count. 4 It is nothing. A seizure, I know not what. 
Let us hurry back to Rome./ But in the meanwhile the baron 
had looked about him; and there, on the left-hand side of the 
way as they went back to Rome, he saw a dusty by-road with 
a tomb upon the one hand and a garden of evergreen- trees 
upon the other. 4 Yes/ says he, with a changed voice. 4 Let 
us by all means hurry back to Rome. 1 fear you are not well 
in health/ 4 Oh, for God’s sake!’ cries the count, shudder- 
ing. 4 Back to Rome and let me get .to bed.’ They made 
their return with scarce a word; and the count, who should 
by rights have gone into society, took to his bed and gave out 
he had a touch of country fever. The next day the baron’s 
horse was found tied to the pine, but himself was never heard 
of from that hour. And now, was that a murder?” says the 
master, breaking sharply off. 

44 Are you sure he was a count?” I asked. 

4 ‘ I am not certain of the title,” said he, 44 but he was a 
gentleman of family: and the Lord deliver you, Mackellar, 
from an enemy so subtle!” 

These last words he spoke down at me smiling, from high 
above; the next, he was under my feet. I continued to fol- 
low his evolutions with a childish fixity; they made me giddy 
and vacant., and I spoke as in a dream. 

44 He hated the baron with a great hatred?” I asked. 

44 His belly moved when the man came near him,” said the 
master. 

44 1 have felt that same,” said I. 

44 Verily!” cries the master. 44 JIere is news indeed! I 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 143 

wonder — do I flatter myself? or am I the cause of these ven- 
tral perturbations?” 

He was quite capable of choosing out a graceful posture, 
even with no one to behold him but myself, and all the more 
if there were any element of peril. He sat now with one knee 
flung across the other, his arms on his bosom, fitting the swing 
of the ship with an exquisite balance, such as a feather-weight 
might overthrow. All at once 1 had the vision of my lord at the 
table with his head upon his hands; only now, when he showed 
me his countenance, it was heavy with reproach. The words of 
my own prayer — 1 were Ulcer a man if 1 struck this creature 
down — shot at the same time into my memory. I called my 
energies together, and (the ship then heeling downward to- 
ward my enemy) thrust at him swiftly with my foot. It was 
written I should have the guilt of this attempt without the 
profit. Whether from my own uncertainty or his incredible 
quickness, he escaped the thrust, leaping to his feet and catch- 
ing hold at the same moment of a stay. 

1 do not know how long a time passed by: I lying where I 
was upon the deck, overcome with terror and remorse and 
shame: he standing with the stay in his hand, backed against 
the bulwarks, and regarding me with an expression singularly 
mingled. At last he spoke. 

“ Mackellar,” said he, “ I make no reproaches, but I offer 
you a bargain. On your side, I do not suppose you desire to 
have this exploit made public; on mine, 1 own to you freely I 
do not care to draw my breath in a perpetual terror of assas- 
sination by the man I sit at meat with. Promise me — but 
no,” says he, breaking off, “ you are not yet in the quiet pos- 
session of your mind; you might think I had extorted the 
promise from your weakness; and I would leave no door open 
for casuistry to come in — that dishonesty of the conscientious. 
Take time to meditate.” 

With that he made off up the sliding deck like a squirrel 
and plunged into the cabin. About half an hour later he re- 
turned: 1 still lying as he had left me. 

“ How,” says he, “ will you give me your troth as a Chris- 
tian and a faithful servant of my brother's, that 1 shall have 
no more to fear from your attempts?” 

“ I give it you,” said I. 

“ I shall require your hand upon it,” says he. 

•'* You have the right to make conditions,” I replied, and 
we shook hands. 

He sat down at once in the same place and the old perilous 
attitude. 


Tfi ' ’ R OF BALLANTRAE. 

“ Hold on!” cried I, covering my eyes. 4 4 1 can not bear 
to see you in that posture. The least irregularity of the sea 
might plunge you overboard.” 

“ You are highly inconsistent,” he replied, smiling, but 
doing as 1 asked. “For all that, Mackellar, 1 would have 
you to know you have risen forty feet in my esteem. You 
think I can not set a price upon fidelity? But why do you 
suppose I carry that.Secundra Hass about the world with me? 
Because lie would die or do murder for me to-morrow; and 1 
love him for it. Well, you may think it odd, but I like you 
the better for this afternoon's performance. I thought you 
were magnetized with the Ten Commandments; but no — God 
damn my soul!” he cries, 44 the old wife has blood in his body 
after all! Which does not change the fact,” he continued, 
smiling again, 44 that you have done well to give your prom- 
ise; for 1 doubt if you would ever shine in your new trade.” 

44 1 suppose,” said I, 44 1 should ask your pardon and God's 
for my attempt. At any rate 1 have passed my word, which 
I will keep faithfully. But when 1 think of those you perse- 
cute — ” I paused.. 

44 Life is a singular thing,” said he, 44 and mankind a very 
singular people. You suppose yourself to love my brother. I 
assure you it is merely custom. Interrogate your memory; 
and when first you came to Burrisdeer, you will find you con- 
sidered him a dull, ordinary youth. He is as dull and ordi- 
nary now, though not so young. Had you instead fallen in 
with me, you would to-day be as strong upon my side.” 

44 1 would never say you were ordinary, Mr. Bally,” I re- 
turned; 44 but here you prove yourself dull. You have just 
shown your reliance on my word. In other terms, that is my 
conscience — the same which starts instinctively back from you, 
like the eye from a strong light. '' 

# 44 Ah!” says he, 44 but I mean otherwise. 1 mean, had I 
met you in my youth. You are to consider I was not always 
as I am. to-day; nor (had 1 met in with a friend of your de- 
scription) should I have ever been so.” 

44 Hut, Mr. Bally,” says I, 44 you would have made a mock 
of me; you would never have spent ten civil words on such a 
squaretoes. ” 

But he was now fairly started on his new course of justifica- 
tion, with which he wearied me throughout the remainder of 
the passage. No doubt in the past he had taken pleasure to 
paint himself unnecessarily nd made a vaunt of his 

wickedness, bearing it for arms. Nor was he so 

illogical as to abate one item < sold confessions. “But 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


145 


now that I know you are a human being,” he would say, “ I 
can take the trouble to explain myself. For I assure you 1 
am human too, and have my virtues like my neighbors.” I 
say he wearied me, for 1 had only the one word to say in an- 
swer: twenty times I must have said it: 44 Give up your pres- 
ent purpose and return with me~to Durrisdeer; then I will be- 
lieve you.” 

Thereupon he would shake his head at me. 44 Ah, Mackel- 
lar, you might live a thousand years and never understand my 
nature,” he would say. 44 This battle is now committed, the 
hour of reflection quite past, the hour for mercy not yet come. 

It began between us when we span a coin in the hall of Dur- 
risdeer- now twenty years ago; we have had our ups and downs, 
but never either of us dreamed of giving in; and as for me, 
when my glove is cast, life and honor go with it.” 

44 A fig for your honor!” I would say. 44 And by your 
leave, these warlike similitudes are something too high-sound- 
ing for the matter in hand. You want some dirty money, 
there is the bottom qf your contention; and as for your means, 
what are they? — to stir up sorrow in a family that never ' 
harmed you, to debauch (if you can) your own born nephew, 
and to wring the heart of- your born brother! A footpad that 
kills an old granny in a woolen mutch with a dirty bludgeon, 
and that for a shilling-piece* and a paper of snufl — there is all 
the warrior that you are.” 

When I would attack him thus (or somewhat thus) he would 
smile and sigh like a man misunderstood. Once, I remember, 
he defended himself more at large, and had some curious 
sophistries, worth repeating for a light upon his character. 

44 You are very like a civilian to think war consists in drums 
and banners,” said he. 44 War (as the ancients said very 
wisely) is ultima ratio. When we take our advantage unre- 
lentingly, then we make war. Ah, Mackellar, you are a devil 
of a soldier in the steward’s room at Durrisdeer, or the tenants 
do you sad injustice!” 

“ I think little of what war is or is not,” I replied. 44 But 
you weary me with claiming my respect. Your brother is a 
good man, and you are a bad one — neither more nor less.” 

44 Had I been Alexander — ” he began. 

44 It is so we all dupe ourselves,” I cried. 44 Had I been St. 
Paul, it would have been all one; I would have made the same 
hash of that career that you now see me making of my own. ” 

44 1 tell you,” he cried, bearing down my interruption, 

44 had I been the least petty chieftain in the highlands, had I 
been the least king of naked negroes in the African desert* 


146 


THE MASTER OE B ALLAN TRAE. 


my people would have adored me. A bad man, am I? Ah, 
but I was born for a good tyrant! Ask Secundra Dass; he 
will tell you I treat him like- a son. Oast in your Jot with me 
to-morrow, become my slave, my chattel, a thing 1 can com- 
mand as 1 command the powers of my own limbs and spirit — 
you will see no more that dark side that I turn upon the world 
in anger. I must have all or none. But where all is given, I 
give it back with usury. I have a kingly nature: there is my 
loss!" 

“ It has been hitherto rather the loss of others," I re- 
marked; “ which seems a little on the hither side of royalty." 

“ Tilly vally!" cried he. “ Even now, I tell you I would 
spare that family in which you take so great an interest : yes, 
even now — to-morrow I would leave them to their petty wel- 
fare, and disappear in that forest of cut-throats and thimble- 
riggers that we call the World. I would do it to-morrow!" 
says he. “ Only — only — " 

“ Only what?" I asked. 

“ Only they must beg it on their bended knees. I think in 
public too," he added, smiling. “ Indeed, Mackellar, I doubt 
if there be a hall big enough to serve my purpose for that act 
of reparation." 

“ Vanity, vanity!" I moralized. “ To think that this great 
force for evil should be swayed by the same sentiment that sets 
a lassie mincing to her glass!" 

“ Oh, there are double words for everything; the word that 
swells, the word that belittles: you can not fight me with a 
word!" said he. “You said the other day that I relied on 
your conscience: were 1 in your humor of detraction, I might 
say I built upon your vanity. It is your pretension to be un 
homme cle parole ; Tis mine not to accept defeat. Call it van- 
ity, call it virtue, call it greatness of soul — what signifies the 
expression? But recognize in each of us a common strain; 
that we both live for an idea." 

It will be gathered from so much familiar talk, and so much 
patience on both sides, that we now lived together upon ex- 
cellent terms. Such was again the fact, and this time more 
seriously than before. Apart from disputations such as that 
which I have tried to reproduce, not only consideration reigned, 
but I am tempted to say even kindness. When I fell sick (as 
1 did shortly after our great storm) he sat by my berth to en- 
tertain me with his conversation, and treated me with excel- 
lent remedies, which 1 accepted with security. Himself com- 
mented on the circumstance. “ You see," says he, “ you 
begin to know me better. A very little while ago, upon this 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


147 


lonely ship, where no one but myself has any smattering of 
science, you would have made sure I had designs upon } r our 
life. And observe, it is since I found you had designs upon 
my own that I have shown you most respect. You will tell 
me if this speaks of a small mind.” I found little to reply. 
In so far as regarded myself, I believed him to mean well ; I 
am perhaps the more a dupe of his dissimulation, but 1 be- 
lieved (and I still believe) that he regarded me with genuine 
'kindness. Singular and sad fact! so soon as this change be- 
gan, my animosity abated, and these haunting visions of my 
master passed utterly away. So that, perhaps, there was 
truth in the mail's last vaunting word to me, uttered on the 
second day of July, when our long voyage was at last brought 
almost to an end, and we lay becalmed at the sea end of the 
vast harbor of New York in a gasping heat which was present- 
ly exchanged for a surprising water-fall of rain. I stood on the 
poop regarding the green shores near at hand, and now and 
then the light smoke of the little town, our destination. And 
as I was even then devising how to steal a march on my 
familiar enemy, I was conscious of a shade of embarrassment 
when he approached me with his hand extended. 

<k I am now to bid you farewell,” said he, “ and that for- 
ever. For now you go among my enemies, where all your 
former prejudices will revive. I never yet failed to charm a 
person when I wanted; even you, my good friend — to call you 
so for once — even you have now a very different portrait of 
me in your memory, and one that you will never quite forget. 
The voyage has not lasted long enough, or I should have 
wrote tiie impression deeper. But now all is at an end, and 
we are again at war. Judge by this little interlude how dan- 
gerous I am; and tell those fools ” — pointing with his finger 
to the town — “ to think twice and thrice before they set me 
at defiance.” 


PASSAGES AT NEW YORK. 

1 have mentioned I was resolved to steal a march upon the 
master; and this, with the complicity of Captain McMurtrie, 
was mighty easily effected; a boat being partly loaded on the 
one side of our ship and the master placed on board of it, the 
while a skiff put off from the other carrying me alone. I had 
no more trouble in finding a direction to my lord's house, 
whither I went at top speed, and which I found to be on the 
outskirts of the place, a very suitable mansion, in a line gar- 
den, with an extraordinary large barn, byre, and stable all in 


148 . 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


one. It was here my lord was walking when I arrived; in- 
deed it had become his chief place of frequentation, and his 
mind was now filled with farming. 1 burst in upon him 
breathless, and gave him my news; which was indeed no news 
at all, several ships having outsailed the 44 Nonesuch ” in the 
interval. 

44 We have been expecting you long,” said my lord; 4 4 and 
indeed, of late days, ceased to expect you anymore. I am 
glad to take your hand again, Mackellar. I thought you had 
been at the bottom of the sea. ” 

44 Ah, my lord, would God I had!” cried L. “ Things * 
would have been better for yourself.” 

<£ Not in the least,” says he, grimly. 44 1 could not ask 
better. There is a long score to pay, and now — at last — 1 can 
begin to pay it.” 

I cried out against his security. 

44 Oh,” says he, 44 this is hot Durrisdeer, and I have taken 
my precautions. His reputation awaits him, I hare prepared 
a welcome for my brother. Indeed, fortune has served me; 
for I found here a merchant of Albany who knew him after 
the *45 and had mighty convenient suspicious of a murder; 
some one of the name of Chew it was, another Albanian. No 
one here will be surprised if I deny him my door; he will not 
be suffered to address my children, nor even to salute my wife; 
as for myself, 1 make so much exception for a brother that he 
may speak to me. I should lose my pleasure else,” says my 
lord, rubbing his palms. 

•Presently he bethought himself, and set men off running, 
with billets, to summon the magnates of the province. 1 can 
not recall what pretext he employed; at least it was success- 
ful; and when our ancient enemy appeared upon the scene, he 
found my lord pacing in front of his house under some trees 
of shade, with the governor upon one hand and various nota- 
bles upon the other. My lady, who was seated in the veranda, 
rose with a very- pinched expression and carried her children 
into the house. 

The master, well dressed and with an elegant walking-sword, 
bowed to the company in a handsome manner and nodded to 
my lord with familiarity. My lord did not accept the saluta- 
tion, but looked upon his brother with bended brows. 

44 Well, sir,” says he, at last, 44 what ill wind brings you 
hither of all places, where (to our common disgrace) your 
reputation has preceded you?” 

44 Your lordship is pleased to be civil,” cries the master, 
with a fine start. 


THE MASTER OF BARLANTRAE. 149 

“ I am pleased to be very plain,” returned my lord; “be- 
cause it is needful you should clearly understand your situa- 
tion. At home, where you were so little known, it was still 
possible to keep appearances; that would be quite vain in this 
province; and I have to tell you that I am quite resolved to 
wash my hands of you. You have already ruined me almost 
to the door, as you ruined my father before me; whose heart 
you also broke. Your crimes escape the law; but my friend 
the governor has promised protection to my family. Have a 
care, sir!” cries my lord, shaking his cane at him: “ if you 
are observed to utter two words to any of my innocent house- 
hold, the law shall be stretched to make you smart for it.” 

“ Ah!” says the master, very slowly. “ And so this is the 
advantage of a foreign’ land! These gentlemen are unac- 
quainted with our story, I perceive. They do not know that 
I am the Lord Durrisdeer; they do not know you are my 
younger brother, sitting in my place under a sworn family 
compact; they do not know (or they would not be seen with 
you in familiar correspondence) that every acre is mine Before 
God Almighty — and every doit of the money you withhold 
from me, you do it as a thief, a perjurer, and a disloyal 
brother!” 

“General Clinton,” I cried, “do not listen to his lies. I 
am the steward of the estate, and there is not one word of 
truth in it. The man is a forfeited rebel turned into a hired 
spy; there is his story in two words.” 

It was thus that (in the heat of the moment) 1 let slip his 
infamy. 

“ Fellow,” said the governor, turning his face sternly on 
the master, “ I know more of you than you think for. We 
have some broken ends of your adventures in the provinces, 
which you will do very well not to drive me to investigate. 
There is the disappearance of Mr. Jacob Chew with all his 
merchandise; there is the matter of where you came ashore 
from with so much money and jewels, when you were picked 
up by a Bermudan out of Albany. Believe me, if I let these 
matters lie, it is in commiseration for your family and out of 
respect for my valued friend. Lord Durrisdeer.” 

There was a murmur of applause from the provincials. 

“ 1 should have remembered how a title would shine out in 
such 'a hole as this,” says the master, white as a sheet; “ no 
matter .how unjustly come by. It remains for me then to die 
at my lord’s door, where my dead body will form a very cheer- 
ful ornament.” 

“ Away with your affectations!” cries my lord. “You 


150 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


know very well 1 Rave no such meaning; only to protect my- 
self from calumny and my home from your intrusion. 1 offer 
you a choice. Either I shall pay your passage home on the 
first ship, when you may perhaps be able to resume your occu- 
pations under government, although God knows 1 would rather 
see you on the highway! Or, if that likes you not, stay here 
and welcome! I have inquired the least sum on which body 
and soul can be decently kept together in New York; so much 
you shall have, paid weekly; and if you can not labor with 
your hands to better it, high time you should betake yourself 
to learn! The condition is, that you speak jvith no member 
of my family except myself,” he added. 

I do not think I have ever seen any man so pale as was the 
master; but he was erect and his mouth firm. 

“ 1 have been met here with some very unmerited insults,” 
said he, “ from which. 1 have certainly no idea to take refuge 
by flight. Give me your pittance; 1 take it without shame, 
for it is mine already — like the shirt upon your back; and 1 
choose to stay until these gentlemen shall understand me bet- 
ter. Already they must spy the cloven hoof; since with all 
your pretended eagerness for the family honor, you take a 
pleasure to degrade it in my person. ” 

“This is all very fine,” says my lord; “but to us who 
know you of old, you must be sure it signifies nothing. You 
take that alternative out of which you think that you can 
make the most. Take it, if you can, in silence; it will serve 
you better in the long run, you may believe me, than this 
ostentation of ingratitude.” 

“ Oh, gratitude, my lord!” cries the master, with a mount- 
ing intonation and his forefinger very conspicuously lifted up. 
“Be at rest; it will not fail you. It now remains that I 
should salute these gentlemen whom we have wearied with 
our family affairs. ” 

And he bowed to each in succession, settled his walking- 
sword, and took himself off, leaving every one amazed at his 
behavior, and me not less so at my lord’s. 

We were now to enter on a changed phase of this family 
division. The master was by no manner of means so helpless 
as my lord supposed, having at his hand and entirely devoted 
to his service, an excellent artist in all sorts of goldsmith 
work. With my lord’s allowance, which was not so scanty as 
he had described it, the pair could support life; and all the 
earnings of Secundra Dass might be laid upon one side for 
any future purpose. That this was done, I have no doubt. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


151 


It was in all likelihood the master’s design to gather a suffi- 
ciency, and then proceed in quest of that treasure which he 
had buried long before among the mountains; to which, if he 
had confined himself, he would have been more happily in- 
spired. But unfortunately for himself and all of us, he took 
counsel of his anger. The public disgrace of his arrival (which 
I sometimes wonder he could manage to survive) rankled in 
his bones; he was in that humor when a man (in the words of 
the old adage) will cut off his nose to spite his face; and he 
must make himself a public spectacle, in the hopes that some 
of the disgrace might spatter on my lord. 

He chose, in a poor quarter of the town, a lonely, small 
house of boards, overhung with some acacias. It was fur- 
nished in front with a sort of hutch opening, like that of a 
dog’s kennel, but about as high as a table from the ground, 
in which the poor man that built it had formerly displayed 
some wares; and it was this which took the master’s fancy 
and possibly suggested his proceedings. It appears, on board 
the p.rate ship, he had acquired some quickness with the 
needle; enough at least to play the part of tailor in the public 
eye; which was all that was required by the nature of his 
vengeance. A placard was hung above the hutch, bearing 
these words in something of the following disposition: 

James Durie 

formerly MASTER of BALLANTRAE 
Clothes Neatly Clouted. 


SECUNDRA DASS 
Decayed Gentleman of India 

FINE GOLDSMITH WORK. 

Underneath this, when he had a job, my gentleman sat 
withinside tailor-wise and busily stitching. I say, when he 
had a job; but such customers as came were rather for Secun- 
dra, and the master’s .sewing would be more in the manner of 
Penelope’s. He could never have designed to gain even but- 
ter to his bread by such a means of livelihood; enough for 
him, that there was the name of Durie dragged in the dirt on 
the placard, and the sometime heir of that proud family set 
up cross-legged in public for a reproach upon his brother’s 
meanness. And in so far his device succeeded, that there was 
murmuring in the town and a party formed highly inimical 
to my lord. My lord’s favor with the governor laid him more 


152 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


open on the other side; my lady (who was never so well re- 
ceived in the colony) met with painful innuendoes; in a party 
of women, where it would be the topic most natural to intro- 
duce, she was almost debarred from the naming of needle- 
work; and I have seen her return with a flushed countenance 
and vow that she would go abroad no more. 

In the meanwhile, my lord dwelt in his decent mansion, 
immersed in farming; a popular man with his intimates, and 
careless or unconscious of the rest. He laid on flesh; had a 
bright, busy face; even the heat seemed to prosper with him; 
and my lady (in despite of her own annoyances) daily blessed 
Heaven her father should have left her such a paradise. She 
had looked on from a window upon the master’s humiliation; 
and from that hour appeared to feel at ease. 1 was not so sure 
myself; as time went on there seemed to me a something not 
quite wholesome in my lord’s condition; happy he was, beyond 
a doubt, but the grounds of this felicity were secret; even in 
the bosom of his family, he brooded with manifest delight upon 
some private thought; and 1 conceived at last the suspicion 
(quite unworthy of us both) that he kept a mistress somewhere 
in the town. Yet he went kittle abroad, and his day w T as very 
fully occupied; indeed there was but a siftgle period, and that 
pretty early in the morning while Mr. Alexander was at his 
lesson-book, of which I was not certain of the disposition. It 
should be borne in mind, in the defense of that which I now 
did, that 1 was always in some fear my lord was not quite 
justly in his reason; and with our enemy sitting so still in the 
same town with us, I did well to be upon my guard. Accord- 
ingly I made a pretext, had the hour changed at which 1 
taught Mr. Alexander the foundation of ciphering and the 
mathematic, and set myself instead to dog my master’s foot- 
steps. 

Every morning, fair or foul, he took his gold-headed cane, 
set his hat on the back of his head — a recent habitude, which 
I thought to indicate a burning brow — and betook himself to 
make a certain circuit. At the first his way was among pleas- 
ant trees and beside a grave-yard, where he would sit awhile, 
if the day were fine, in meditation. Presently the path turned 
down to the water-side and came back along the harbor front 
and past the master’s booth. As he approached this second 
part of his circuit, my Lord Durrisdeer began to pace more 
leisurely, like a man delighted with the air and scene; and be- 
fore the booth, half-way between that and the water’s edge, 
would pause a little leaning on his statf. It was the hour when 
the master sate within upon his board and plied his needle* 


THE MASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 


153 


So these two brothers would gaze upon each other with hard 
faces; and then my lord move on again, smiling to himself. 

It was but twice that I must stoop to that ungrateful neces- 
sity of playing spy. I was then certain of my lord’s purpose 
in his rambles and .of the secret source of his delight. Here 
was his mistress; it was hatred and not love that gave him 
healthful colors. Some moralists might have been relieved 
by the discovery, I confess that I was dismayed. I found this 
situation of two brethren not only odious in itself, but big 
with possibilities of further evil; and I made it my practice, 
in so far as many occupations would allow, to go by a shorter 
path and be secretly present at their meeting. Coming down 
one day a little late, after I had been near a week prevented, 
1 was struck with surprise to find a new development. I 
should say there was a bench against the master’s house, where 
customers might sit to parley with the shopman; and here I 
found my lord seated, nursing his cane and looking pleasantly 
forth upon the bay. Hot three feet from him sat the master 
stitching. Neither spoke; nor (in this new situation) did my 
lord so much as cast a glance upon his enemy. He tasted his 
neighborhood, I must suppose, less indirectly in the bare 
proximity of person; ,and, without doubt, drank deep of hate- 
ful pleasures. " * 

He had no sooner come away than I openly joined him. 

“ My lord, my lord,” said I, “this is no manner of be- 
havior. ” 

“ 1 grow fat upon it,” he replied; and not merely the words, 
which were strange enough, but the whole character of his ex- 
pression shocked me. 

“ I warn you, my lord, against this indulgency of evil feel- 
ing,” said I. “I know not to which it is more perilous, the 
soul or the reason: but you go the way to murder both.” 

“ You/ can not understand,” said he. “You had never 
such mountains of bitterness upon your heart.” 

“ And if it were no more,” 1 added, “ you will surely goad 
the man to some extremity.” 

“ To the contrary: 1 am breaking his spirit,” says my 
lord.” 

Every morning for hard upon a week my lord took his same 
place upon the bench. It was a pleasant place, under the 
green acacias, with a sight upon the bay and shipping, and a 
sound (from some way off) of mariners, singing at their em- 
ploy. Here the two sate without speech or any external move- 
ment beyond that of the needle or the master biting off a 


154 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


thread, for he still clung to his pretense of industry; and here 
1 made a point to join them, wondering at myself and my com- 
panions. If any of my lord’s friends went by, he would hail 
them cheerfully, and cry out he was there to give some good 
advice to his brother, who was now (to his delight) grown quite 
industrious. And even this the master accepted with a steady 
countenance; what was in his mind, God knows, or perhaps 
Satan only. 

All of a sudden, on a still day of what they call the Indian 
summer, when the woods were changed into gold and pink and 
scarlet, the master laid down his needle and burst into a fit of 
merriment. I think he must have been preparing it a long 
while in silence, for the note in itself was pretty naturally 
pitched; but breaking suddenly from so extreme a silence and 
in circumstances so averse from mirth, it sounded ominously 
to my ear. 

“ Henry,” said he, “I have for once made a false step, and 
for once you have had the wit to profit by it. The farce of 
the cobbler ends to-day; and I confess to you (with my com- 
pliments) that you have had the best of it. Blood will out; 
and you have certainly a choice idea of how to make yourself 
unpleasant.” 

Never a word said my lord; it was just as though the master 
had not broken silence. 

“ Come,” resumed the master, “do not be sulky, it will 
spoil your attitude. You can now afford (believe me) to be a 
little gracious; for I have not merely a defeat to accept. I 
had meant to continue this performance till I had gathered 
enough money for a certain purpose; I confess ingenuously 1 
have not the courage. You naturally desire my absence from 
this town; 1 have come round by another way to the same 
idea. And I have a proposition to make; or if your lordship 
prefers, a favor to ask.” 

“ Ask it,” says my lord. 

“You may have heard that I had once in this country a 
considerable treasure,” returned the master: “ it matters not 
whether or no— such is the fact; and I was obliged to bury it 
in a spot of which I have sufficient indications. To the recov- 
ery of this, has my ambition now come down; and as it is my 
own, you will not grudge it me.” 

“ Go and get it,” says my lord. “ I make no opposition. ” 

“ Yes,” said the master, “ but to do so I must find men 
and carriage. The way is long and rough, and the country 
infested with wild Indians. Advance me only so much as shall 
be needful: either as a lump sum, in lieu of my allowance; or 


THE MASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 


155 


if you prefer it, as a loan, which I shall repay on my return. 
And then, if you so decide, you may have seen the last of me.” 

My lord stared him steadily in the eyes; there was a hard 
smile upon his face, but he uttered nothing. 

44 Henry,” said the master, with a formidable quietness, 
and drawing at the same time somewhat back — Henry, I had 
the honor to address you.” 

44 Let us be stepping homeward,” says my lord to me, who 
was plucking at his sleeve; and with that he rose, stretched 
himself, settled his hat, and still without a syllable of response, 
began to walk steadily along the shore. 

I hesitated awhile between the two brothers, so serious a 
climax did we seem to have reached. But the master had re- 
sumed his occupation, his eyes lowered, his hand seemingly as 
deft as ever; and I decided to pursue my lord. 

44 Are you mad?” I cried, so soon as I had overtook him. 
44 Would you cast away so fair an opportunity?” 

44 Is it possible you should still believe in him?” inquired 
my lord, almost with a sneer. 

44 1 wish him forth of this town,” 1 cried. 44 1 wish him 
anywhere and anyhow but as he is.” 

44 1 have said my say,” returned my lord, 44 and you have 
said yours. -There let it rest.” 

But 1 was bent on dislodging the master. That sight of 
him patiently returning to his needle-work was more than my 
imagination could digest There was never a man made, and 
the master the least of any, that could accept so long a series 
of insults. The air smelled blood to me. And I vowed there 
should be no neglect of mine if, through any chink of possi- 
bility, crime could be yet turned aside. That same dajq there- 
fore, I came to my lord in his business room, where he sat 
upon some trivial occupation. 

44 My lord,” said I, 44 1 have found a suitable investment 
for my small economies. But these are unhappily in Scot- 
land ; it will take some time to lift them, and the allair presses. 
Could your lordship see his way to advance me the amount 
against my note?” 

He read me awhile with keen eyes. 44 1 have never inquired 
into the state of your affairs, Mackellar,” says he. 44 Beyond 
the amount of your caution, you may not be worth a farthing, 
for what I know.” „ 

44 1 have been a long while in your service, and never told a 
lie, nor yet asked a favor for myself,” said 1, 44 until to-day.” 

“ A favor for the master,” he returned, quietly. 44 Do you 
take me for a fool, Mackellar? Understand it once and for 


156 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


all; I treat this beast in my own way; fear nor favor shall not 
move me; and before I am hoodwinked, it will require a trick- 
ster less transparent than yourself. I ask service, loyal serv- 
ice; not that you should make and mar behind my back, and 
steal my own money to defeat me.” 

“My lord/ 5 said I, “ these are very unpardonable expres- 
sions.” 

“ Think once more, Mackellar,” he replied; “ and you will 
see they fit the fact. It is your own subterfuge that is unpar- 
donable. Deny (if you can) that you designed this money to 
evade my orders with, and I will ask your pardon freely. If 
you can not, you must have the resolution to hear your con- 
duct go by its own name.” 

“ If you think I had any design but to save you — ” I 
began. 

“ Oh, my old friend,” said he, “ you know very well what 
I think! Here is my hand to you with all my heart; but of 
money, not one rap. ” 

Defeated upon this side, I went straight to my room, wrote 
a letter, ran with it to the harbor, for I knew a ship was on 
the point of sailing: and came to the master’s door a little be- 
fore dusk. Entering without the form of any knock, I found 
him sitting with his Indian at a simple meal of maize porridge 
with some milk. The house within was clean and poor; oniy 
a few books upon a shelf distinguished it, and (in one corner) 
Secundra’s little bench. 

“ Mr. Bally,” said 1, “ I have near five hundred pounds laid 
by in Scotland, the economies of a hard life. A letter goes by 
yon ship to have it lifted; have so much patience till the re- 
turn ship comes in, and it is all yours, upon the same condi- 
tion you offered to niv lord this morning.” 

He rose from the table, came forward, took me by the 
shoulders, and looked me in the face, smiling. 

“ And yet you are very fond of money!” said he. “ And 
yet you love money beyond all things else, except my brother!” 

“ I fear old age and poverty,” said 1, “ which is another 
matter. ” 

“ 1 will never quarrel for a name. Call it so!” he replied. 
“Ah, Mackellar, Mackellar, if this were done from any love 
to me, how gladly would I close upon your offer!” 

“*knd yet,” I eagerly answered, “ 1 say it to my shame, 
but I can not see you in this poor place without compunction. 
It is not my siugle thought, nor my first; and yet it’s there! 
I would gladly see you delivered. " 1 do not offer it in love, 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 157 

and far from that; hut as God judges me— and I wonder at it 
too! — quite without enmity.” 

“ Ah,” says he, still holding my shoulders and now gently 
shaking me, “you think of me more tlihn you suppose. 
4 And I wonder at it too/ ” he added, repeating my expres- 
sion and I suppose something of my voice. “You are an 
honest man, and for that cause I spare you.” 

“ Spare me?” I cried. 

“ Spare you,” he repeated, letting me go and turning away. 
And then, fronting me once more: “ You little know what I 
would do with it, Mackellar! Did you think I had swallowed 
my defeat indeed? Listen: my life has been a series of un- 
merited cast-backs. That fool, Prince Charlie, mismanaged 
a most promising affair: there fell my first fortune. In Paris 
I had my foot once more high upon the ladder: that time it 
was an accident, a letter came to the wrong hand, and I 
was bare again. A third time, 1 found my opportunity; I 
built up a place for myself in India with an infinite patience; 
and then Clive came, my rajah was swallowed up, and I es- 
caped out of the convulsion, like another AEneas, with Secun- 
dra Dass upon my back. Three times I have had my hand 
upon the highest station; and I am not yet three-and-forty. I 
know the world as few men know it when they come to die, 
court and camp, the east and the west; I know where to go, 
I see a thousand openings. I am now at the height of my re- 
sources, sound of health, of inordinate ambition. Well, all 
this I resign; 1 care not if I die and the world never hear of 
rue; I care only for one thing, and that I will have. Mind 
yourself: lest, when the roof falls, you too should be crushed 
under the ruins . 99 

As I came out of his house, all hope of intervention quite 
destroyed, I was aware of a stir on the harbor-side, and raising 
my eyes, there was a great ship newly come to anchor. It 
seems strange I could have looked upon her with so much in- 
difference, for she brought death to the brothers of Durrisdeer. 
After a^l the desperate episodes of this contention, the insults, 
the opposing interests, the fraternal duel in the shrubbery, it 
was reserved for some poor devil in Grub Street, scribbling for 
his dinner and not caring what he scribbled, to cast a spell 
across four thousand miles of the salt sea, and send forth both 
these brothers into savage and wintery deserts, there to die. 
But such a thought was distant from my mind; and while all 
the provincials were fluttered about me by the unusual anima- 
tion of their port, I passed throughout their midst on my re- 


158 THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 

turn homeward, quite absorbed in the recollection of my visit 
and the master’s speech. 

The same night there was brought to us from the ship a lit- 
tle packet of pamphlets. The next day my lord was under 
engagement to go with the governor upon some party of pleas- 
ure; the time was nearly diie, and I left him for a moment 
alone in his room and skimming through the pamphlets. 
When I returned his head had f alien upon the table, his arms 
lying abroad among the crumpled papers. 

“ My lord, my lord!” I cried as I ran forward, for I sup- 
posed he was in some fit. 

He sprung up like a figure upon wires, his countenance de- 
formed with fury, so that in a strange place I should scarce 
have known him. His hand at the same time flew above his 
head as though to strike me down. “ Leave me alone!” he 
screeched; and I fled, as fast as my shaking legs w~ould bear 
me, for my lady. She too lost no time; but when we re- 
turned he had the door locked within, and only cried to us 
from the other side to leave him be. We looked in each 
other’s faces, very white: each supposing the blow had come 
at last. 

“ I will write to the governor to excuse him,” says she. 
“ We must keep our strong friends.” But when she took up 
the pen, it flew out of her fingers. “ I can not write/’ said 
she. “ Can you?” 

“ 1 will make a shift, my lady/’ said I. 

She looked over me as 1 wrote. “ That will do,” she said, 
when I had done. ‘‘ Thank God, Mackellar, 1 have you to 
lean upon! But what can it be now? what, what can it be?” 

In my own mind, I believed there was no explanation possi- 
ble and none required: it was my fear that the man’s madness 
had now simply burst forth its way, like the long-smothered 
flames of a volcano; but to this (in>mere mercy to my lady) I 
durst not give expression. 

“ It is more to the purpose to consider our own behavior/’ 
said I. “ Must we leave him there alone?” 

“ I do not dare disturb him,” she replied. “ Nature may 
know best; it may be nature that cries to be alone; and we 
grope in the dark. Oh, yes, I would leave him as he is.” 

“ I will then dispatch this letter, my lady, and return here, 
if you please, to sit with you,” said I. 

“ Pray do,” cries my lady. 

All afternoon we sat together, mostly in silence, watching 
my lord’s door. My own mind was busy with the scene that 
had just passed, and its singular resemblance to my vision. I 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


must say a word upon this, for the story has gone abroad 'v lib 
great exaggeration, and I have even seen it printed and in, 
own name referred to for particulars. So much was the 
same: here was my lord in a room, with his head upon the 
table, and when he raised his face it wore such an expression 
as distressed me to the soul. But the room was different, my 
lord’s attitude at the table not at all the same, and his face, 
when he disclosed it, expressed a painful degree of fury instead 
of that haunting despair which had always (except once, 
already referred to) characterized it in the vision. There is 
the whole truth at last before the public; and if the differences 
be great, the coincidence was yet enough to fill me with uneasi- 
ness. All afternoon, as I say, I sat and pondered upon this 
quite to myself; for my lady had trouble of her own, and it 
was my last thought to vex her with fancies. About the midst 
of our time of waiting, she conceived an ingenious scheme, 
had Mr. Alexander fetched and bade him knock at his father’s 
door. My lord sent the boy about his business, but without 
the least violence whether of manner or expression; so that I 
began to entertain a hope the fit was over. 

At last, as the night fell and I was lighting a lamp that 
stood there trimmed, the door opened and my lord stood 
within upon the threshold. The light was not so strong that 
we could read his countenance; when he spoke, methought his 
voice a little altered but yet perfectly steady. 

44 Mackellar,” said he, 4 4 carry this note to its destination 
with your own hand. It is highly private. Find the person 
alone when you deliver it.” 

44 Henry,” says my lady, 44 you are not ill?” 

44 No, no,” says he, querulously, 44 1 am occupied. Not at 
all; I am only occupied. It is a singular thing a man must 
be supposed to be ill when he has any business! Send me sup- 
per to this room, and a basket of wine: I expect the visit of a 
friend. Otherwise I am not to be disturbed.” 

And with that he once more shut himself in. 

The note was addressed to one Captain Harris, at a tavern 
on the port-side. 1 knew Harris (by reputation) for a danger- 
ous adventurer, highly suspected of piracy in the past, and 
now following the rude business of an Indian trader. What 
my lord should have to say to him, or he to my lord, it passed 
my imagination to conceive: or yet how my lord had heard of 
him, unless by a disgraceful trial from which the man was re- 
cently escaped. Altogether I went upon the errand with re- 
luctance, and from the little I saw of the captain, returned 
from it with sorrow. I found him in a foul-smelling cham- 


IjU THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 

her, sitting by a guttering candle and an empty bottle; he had 
the remains of a military carriage, or rather perhaps it was 
an affectation, for his manners were low. 

“ Tell my lord, with my service, that I will wait upon his 
lordship in the inside of half an hour,” says he, when he had 
read the note; and then had the servility, pointing to his 
empty bottle, to propose that I should buy him liquor. 

Although I returned with my best speed, the captain fol- 
lowed close upon my heels, and he stayed late into the night. 
The cock was crowing a second time when I saw (from my 
chamber window) my lord lighting him to the gate, both men 
very much affected with their potations and sometimes lean- 
ing one upon the other to confabulate. Yet the next morning 
my lord was abroad again early with a hundred pounds of 
money in his pocket. 1 never supposed that he returned with 
it; and yet I was quite sure it did not find its way to the mas- 
ter, for I lingered all morning within view of the booth. That 
was the 1 last time my Lord Durrisdeer passed his own in- 
closure till we left New York; he walked in his barn or sat 
and talked with his family, all much as usual; but the town 
saw nothing of him, and his daily visits to the master seemed 
forgotten. Nor yet did Harris reappear; or not until the end. 

1 was now much oppressed with a sense of the mysteries in 
which we had begun to move. It was plain, if only from his 
change of habitude, my lord had something on his mind of a 
grave nature; but what it was, whence it sprung, or why he 
should now keep the house and garden, I could make no 
guess at. It was clear, even to probation, the pamphlets had 
some share in this revolution; I read all I could find, and they 
Were all extremely insignificant and of the usual kind of party 
scurrility; even to a high politician, I could spy out no par- 
ticular matter of offense, and my lord was a man rather in- 
different on public questions. The truth is, the pamphlet 
which was the spring of this affair, lay all the time on my 
lord’s bosom. There it was that I found it at last, after he 
was dead, in the midst of the north wilderness; in such a place, 
in such dismal circumstances, I was to read for the first time 
these idle, lying words of a whig pamphleteer declaiming 
against indulgency to Jacobites: “ Another notorious rebel, 
the M r of B e, is to have his title restored,” the pas- 

sage ran.' “This business, has been long in hand, since he 
rendered some very disgraceful services in Scotland and France. 

His brother, L d D r, is known to be no better than 

himself in inclination; and the supposed heir, who is now to 
be set aside, was bred up in the most detestable principles. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. l6l 

In the old phrase, it is six of the one and half a dozen of the 
other, but the favor of such a reposition is too extreme to be 
passed over.” A man in his right wits could not have cared 
two straws for a tale so manifestly false; that government 
should ever entertain the notion, was inconceivable to any rea- 
soning creature, unless possibly the fool that penned it; and 
my lord, though never brilliant, was ever remarkable for 
sense. That he should credit such a rodomontade, and carry 
the pamphlet on his bosom and the words in his heart, is the 
clear proof of the man's lunacy. Doubtless the mere mention 
of Mr. Alexander, and the threat directly held out against the 
child's succession, precipitated that which had so long im- 
pended. Or else my master had been truly mad for a long 
time, and we were too dull or too much used to him, and did 
not perceive the extent of his infirmity. 

About a week after the day of the pamphlets I was late 
upon the harbor-side, and took a turn toward the master's, as 
1 often did. The door opened, a flood of light came forth 
upon the road, and 1 beheld a man taking his departure with 
friendly salutations. I can not say how singularly I was 
shaken to recognize the adventurer Harris. I could not but 
conclude it was the hand of my lord that had brought him 
there; and prolonged my walk in very serious and apprehen- 
sive thought. It was late when I came home, and there was 
my lord making up his portmanteau for a voyage. 

“ Why do you come so late?'' he cried. “We leave to- 
morrow for Albany, you and I together; and it is high time 
you were about your preparations.'' 

“ For Albany, my lord?" I cried. “ And for what earthly 
purpose?" 

“ Change of scene," said he. 

And my lady, who appeared to have been weeping, gave me 
the signal to obey without more parley. She told me a little 
later (when we foun$ occasion to exchange some words) that 
he had suddenly announced his intention after a visit from 
Captain Harris, and her best endeavors, whether to dissuade 
him from the journey or to elicit some explanation of its pur- 
pose, had alike proved unavailing. 


THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS. 

We made a prosperous voyage up that fine river of the 
Hudson, the weather grateful, the hills singularly beautified 
with the colors of the autumn. At Albany we had our resi- 
dence at an inn, where I was not so blind and my lord not so 
6 


162 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


cunning but what I could see he had some design to hold me 
prisoner. The work he found for me to do was not so press- 
ing that we should transact it apart from necessary papers in 
the chamber of an inn; nor was it of such importance that I 
should be set upon as many as four or five scrolls of the same 
document. I submitted in appearance; but I took private 
measures on my own side, and had the news of the town com- 
municated to me daily by the politeness of our host. In this 
way I received at last a piece of intelligence for which, 1 may 
say, I had been waiting. Captain Harris (I was told) with 
“ Mr. Mountain the trader 99 had gone by up the river in a 
boat. I would have feared the landlord's eye, so strong the 
sense of some complicity upon my master’s part oppressed 
me. But I made out to say I had some knowledge of the 
captain, although none of Mr. Mountain, and to inquire who 
else was of the party. My informant knew not; Mr. Mount- 
ain had come ashore upon some needful purchases; had gone 
round the town buying, drinking, and prating; and it seemed 
the party went upon some likely venture, for he had spoken 
much of great things he would do when he returned. No 
more was known, for none of the rest had come ashore, and it 
seemed they were pressed for time to reach a certain spot be- 
fore the snow should fall. 

And sure enough the next day there fell a sprinkle even in. 
Albany; but it passed as it came, and was but a reminder of 
what lay before us. I thought of it lightly then, knowing so 
little as I did of that inclement province; the retrospect is 
' different; and I wonder at times if some of the horror of these 
events which I must now rehearse flowed not from the foul 
skies and savage winds to which we were exposed, and the 
agony of cold that we mpst suffer. 

The boat having passed by, I thought at first we should have 
left the town. But no such matter. My lord continued his 
stay in Albany where he had no ostensible affairs, and kept 
me by him, far from my due employment, and making a pre- 
tense of occupation. It is upon this passage I expect, and 
perhaps, deserve censure. I was not so dull but what I had 
my own thoughts. I could not see the master intrust himself 
into the hands of Harris, and not suspect some underhand 
contrivance. Harris bore a villainous reputation, and he had 
beeij. tampered with in private by my lord; Mountain, the 
trader, proved, upon inquiry, to be another of the same kidney; 
the errand they were all gone upon being the recovery of ill- 
gotten treasures, offered in itself a very strong incentive to 
foul play; and the character of the country where they jour- 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


163 


neyed promised impunity to deeds of blood. Well, it is true I 
had all these thoughts and fears, and guesses of the master’s 
fate. But you are to consider I was the same man that sought 
to dash him from the bulwarks of a ship in the mid-sea; the 
same that, a little before, very impiously but sincerely offered 
God a bargain, seeking to hire God to be my bravo. It is true 
again that I had a good deal melted toward our enemy. But 
this I always thought of as a weakness of the flesh and even 
culpable; my mind remaining steady and quite bent against 
him. True yet again that it was one thing to assume on my 
own shoulders the guilt aud danger of a criminal attempt, and 
another to stand by and see my lord imperil and besmirch 
himself. But this was the very ground of my inaction. For 
(should I any way stir in the business) I might fail indeed to 
save the master, but I could not miss to make a by-word of 
my lord. 

Thus it was that I did nothing; and upon the same reasons, 
I am still strong to justify my course. We lived meanwhile 
in Albany, but though alone together in a strange place, had 
little traffic beyond formal salutations. My lord had carried 
with him several introductions to chief people of the town and 
neighborhood; others he had before encountered in New York; 
with this consequence, that he went much abroad, and I am 
sorry to say was altogether too convivial in his habits. I was 
often in bed, but never asleep, when he returned; and there 
was scarce a night when he did not betray the influence of 
liquor. By day he would still lay upon me endless tasks, 
which he showed considerable ingenuity to fish up and to re- 
new, in the manner of Penelope's web. 1 never refused, as I 
say, for I was hired to do his bidding; but I took no pains to 
keep my penetration under a bushel, and would sometimes 
smile in his face. 

44 I think I must be' the devil, and you Michael Scott," I said 
to him one day. 4 4 1 have bridged Tweed and split the Eil- 
dons; and now you set me to the rope of sand." 

He looked at me with shining eyes and looked away again, 
his jaw chewing; but without words. 

44 Well, well, my lord," said I, 44 } r our will is my pleasure. 
1 will do this thing for the fourth time; but 1 would beg of 
you to invent another task against to-morrow, for by my troth, 
I am weary of this one." 

44 You do not know what you are saying," returned my lord, 
putting on his hat and turning his back to me. 44 It is a 
strange thing you should take a pleasure to annoy me. A 
friend — but that is a different affair. It is a strange thing. I 


164 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


am a man that has had ill-fortune all my life through. 1 am 
still surrounded by contrivances. I am always treading in 
plots,” he burst out. “ The whole world is banded against 
me.” 

44 I would not talk wicked nonsense if I were you,” said I; 
44 but 1 will tell you what I would do — I would put my head 
in cold water, for you had more last night than you could 
carry. ” 

44 Do ye think that?” said he, with a manner of interest 
highly awakened. 44 Would that be good for me? It's a thing 
I never tried.” 

“ I mind the days when you had no call to try, and I wish, 
my lord, that they were back again,” said I. 44 But the plain 
truth is, if you continue to exceed, you will do yourself a mis- 
chief.” 

“ I don’t appear to carry drink the way I used to,” said my 
lord. “ I get overtaken, Mackellar. But I will be more upon 
my guard. ” 

44 That is what I would ask of you,” I replied. 44 You are 
to bear in mind that you are Mr. Alexander’s father; give the 
bairn a chance to carry his name with some responsibility.” 

4 ‘ Ay, ay,” said he. 44 Ye’re a very sensible man, Mackei- 
lar, and have been long in my employ. But I think, if you 
have nothing more to say to me, I will be stepping. If you 
have nothing more to say?” he added, with that burning, 
childish eagerness that was now so common with the man. 

44 No, my lord, I have nothing more,” said I, dr}dy enough. 

44 Then 1 think I will be stepping,” says my lord, and stood 
and looked at me fidgeting with his hat, which he had taken 
off again. 44 1 suppose you will have no errands? No? 1 
am to meet Sir William Johnson, but 1 will be more upon my 
guard.” He was silent for a time, and then, smiling: 44 Do 
you call to mind a place, Mackellar — it’s a little below Engles 
— where the burn runs very deep under a wood of rowans? I 
mind being there when I was a lad — dear, it comes over me 
like an old song! I was after the fishing, and I made a bonny 
cast. Eh, but I was happy. I wonder, Mackellar, why I am 
never happy now?” 

44 My lord,” said I, “if you would drink with more modera- 
tion you would have the better chance. It is an old by-word 
that the bottle is a false consoler. ” 

44 No doubt,” said he, 44 no doubt. Well, I think 1 will be 
going.” 

“ Good-morning, my lord,” said 1. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 165 

“ Good-morning, good-morning,” said he, and so got him- 
self at last from the apartment. 

I give that for a fair specimen of my lord in the morning; 
and I must have described my patron very ill if the reader 
does not perceive a notable falling off. To behold the man 
thus fallen; to know him accepted among his companions for 
a poor, muddled toper, welcome (if he were welcome at all) 
for the bare consideration of his title; and to recall the virtues 
he had once displayed against such odds of fortune; was not 
this a thing at once to rage and to be humbled at? 

In his cups, he was more excessive. I will give but the one 
scene, close upon the end, which is strongly marked upon my 
memory to this day, and at the time affected me almost with 
horror. 

1 was in bed, lying there awake, when I heard him stum- 
bling on the stair and singing. My lord had no gift of music, 
his brother had all the graces of the family, so that when I say 
singing, you are to understand a manner of high, caroling 
utterance, which was truly neither speech nor song. Some- 
thing not unlike is to be heard upon the lips of children, ere 
they learn shame; from those of a man grown elderly, it had 
a strange effect. He opened the door with noisy precaution; 
peered in, shading his candle; conceived me to slumber; en- 
tered, set his light upon the table, and took off his hat. I 
saw him very plain; a high, feverish exultation appeared to 
boil in his veins, and he stood and smiled and smirked upon 
the candle. Presently he lifted up his arm, snapped his fin- 
gers, and fell to undress. As he did so, having once more 
forgot my presence, he took back to his singing; and now I 
could hear the words, which were those from the old song of 
the “ Twa Corbies ” endlessly repeated: 

“ And over his banes when they are bare 
The wind sail blaw for evermair!” 

1 have said there was no music in the man. His strains had 
no logical succession except in so far as they inclined a little 
to the minor mode; but they exercised a rude potency upon 
the feelings, and followed the words, and signified the feelings 
of the singer with barbaric fitness. He took it first in the 
time and manner of a rant; presently this ill-favored gleeful- 
ness abated, he began to dwell upon the notes more feelingly,' 
and sunk at last into a degree of maudlin pathos that was to 
me scarce bearable. By equal steps, the original briskness of 
his acts declined; and when he was stripped to his breeches, 
he sat oh the bedside and fell to whimpering. I know noth- 


166 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

ing less respectable than the tears of drunkenness, and turned 
my back impatiently on this poor sight. 

But he had started himself (I am to suppose) on that slip- 
pery descent of self-pity; on the which, to a man unstrung by 
old sorrows and recent potations there is no arrest except ex- 
haustion. His tears continued to flow, and the man to sit 
there, three parts naked, in the cold air of the chamber. I 
twitted myself alternately with inhumanity and sentimental 
weakness, now half rising in my bed to interfere, now reading 
myself lessons of indifference and courting slumber, until, 
upon a sudden, the quantum mutatus ab illo shot into my 
mind; and calling to remembrance his old wisdom, constancy, 
and patience, I was overborne with a pity almost approaching 
the passionate, not for my master alone but for the sons of 
man. 

At this I leaped from my place, went over to his side and 
laid a hand on his bare shoulder, which was cold as stone. He 
uncovered his face and showed it me all swollen and begrutten* 
like a child's; and at the sight my impatience partially re- 
vived. 

“ Think shame to yourself," said I. “ This is bairnly con- 
duct. I might have been sniveling myself, if I had cared to 
swill my belly with wine. But I went to my bed sober like a 
man. Come; get into yours, and have done with this pitiable 
exhibition. " 

“ Oh, Mackellar," said he, “ my heart is wae!" 

“Wae?" cried I. “For a good cause, 1 think. What 
words were these you sung as you came in? Show pity to 
others, we then can talk of pity to yourself. You can be the 
one thing or the other, but I will be no party to half-way 
houses. If you're a striker, strike, and if you’re a bleater, 
bleat!" 

“ Cry!" cries he, with a burst, “ that's it — strike! that's 
talking! Man, I've stood it all too long. But when they laid 
a hand upon the child, when the child's threatened " — his 
momentary vigor whimpering off — “ my child, my Alexan- 
der!" — and he was at his tears again. 

I took him by the shoulders and shook him. “ Alexander!" 
said I. “ Do you even think of him? Not you! Look your- 
self in the face like a brave man, and you'll find you're but a 
self-deceiver. The wife, the friend, the child, they're all 
equally forgot, and you sunk in a mere log of selfishness." 

“ Mackellar," said he, with a wonderful return to his old 


* Tear-marked. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 167 

manner and appearance, “ you may say what you will of me, 
but one thing I never was — I was never selfish.” 

“ I will open your eyes in your despite,” said I. “ How 
long have we been here? and how often have you written to 
your family? I think this is the first time you were ever sepa- 
rate; have you written at all? Do they know if you are dead 
or living?” 

1 had caught him here too openly; it braced his better nat- 
ure; there was no more weeping, he thanked me very penitent- 
ly, got to bed and was soon fast asleep; and the first thing he 
did the next morning was to sit down and begin a letter to my 
lady; a very tender letter it was too, though it was never 
finished. Indeed all communication with New York was 
transacted by myself; and it will be judged I had a thankless 
task of it. What to tell my lady and in what words, and how 
far to be false and how far cruel, was a thing that kept me 
often from my slumber. 

All this while, no doubt, my lord waited with growing im- 
patiency for news of his accomplices. Harris, it is to be 
thought, had promised a high degree of expedition; the time 
was already overpast when word was to be looked for; and 
suspense was a very evil counselor to a man of an impaired in- 
telligence. My lord’s mind throughout this interval dwelled 
almost wholly in the wilderness, following that party with 
whose deeds he had so much concern. He continually con- 
jured up their camps and progresses, the fashion of the 
country, the perpetration in a thousand different manners of 
the same horrid fact, and that consequent spectacle o f the 
master’s bones lying scattered in the wind. These private, 
guilty considerations I would continually observe to peep forth 
in the man’s talk, like rabbits from a hill. And it is the less 
wonder if the ‘scene of his meditations began to draw him 
bodily. 

It is well known what pretext he took. Sir "William John- 
son had a diplomatic errand in these parts; and my lord and 
I (from curiosity, as was given out) went in his company. Sir 
William was well attended and liberally supplied. Hunters 
brought us venison, fish was taken for us daily in the streams, 
and brandy ran like water. We proceeded by day and en- 
camped by night in the military style; sentinels were set and 
changed; every man had his named duty; and Sir William 
was the spring of all. There was much in this that might at 
times have entertained me; but for our misfortune, the 
weather was extremely harsh, the days were in the beginning 


168 


THE MASTER OE BALLANTRAE. 


open, but the nights frosty from the first. A painful keen 
wind blew most of the time, so that we sat in the boat with 
blue fingers, and at night, as we scorched our faces at the fire, 
the clothes upon our back appeared to be of paper. A dread- 
ful solitude surrounded our stepk; the land was quite dis- 
peopled, there was no smoke of fires, and save for a single 
boat of merchants on the second day, we met no travelers. 
The season was indeed late, but this desertion of the water- 
ways impressed Sir William himself; and I have heard him 
more than once express a sense of intimidation. “I have 
come too late I fear; they must have dug up the hatchet,” he 
said; and the future proved how justly he had reasoned. 

1 could never depict the blackness of my soul upon this 
journey. 1 have none of those minds that are in love with the 
unusual : to see the winter coming and to lie in the field so far 
from any house, oppressed me like a nightmare; it seemed, 
indeed, a kind of awful braving of God/s power; and this 
thought, which I dare say only writes' me down a coward, was 
greatly exaggerated by my private knowledge of the errand we 
were come upon. I was besides encumbered by my duties to 
Sir William, whom it fell upon me to entertain ; for my lord 
was quite sunk into a state bordering on pervigilium, watching 
the woods with a rapt eye, sleeping scarce at all, and speaking 
sometimes not .twenty words in a whole da}'. That which he 
said was still coherent; but it turned almost invariably upon 
the party for whom he kept his crazy lookout. He would tell 
Sir William often, and always as if it were a new communi- 
cation, that he had “ a brother somewhere in the woods,” 
and beg that the sentinels should be directed “ to inquire for 
him.” “I am anxious for news of my brother,” he would 
say. And sometimes, when we were under way, he would 
fancy he spied a canoe far off upon the water* or a camp on 
the shore, and exhibit painful agitation. It was impossible 
but Sir William should be struck with these singularities; and 
at fast he led me aside, and hinted his uneasiness. I touched 
my head and shook it; quite rejoiced to prepare a little testi- 
mony against possible disclosures. 

“ But in that case,” cries Sir William, “ is it wise to let him 
go at large?” 

“ Those that know him best,” said 1, “ are persuaded that 
he should be humored.” 

“ Well, well,” replied Sir William, “ it is none of my affairs. 
But if I had understood, you would never have been here.” 

Our advance into this savage country had thus uneventfully 
proceeded for about a week when we encamped for a night at 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


169 


a place where the river ran among considerable mountains 
clothed, in wood. The fires were lighted on a level space. at 
the water's edge; and we supped and lay down to sleep in the 
customary fashion. It chanced the night fell murderously 
cold; the stringency of the frost seized and bit me through my 
coverings, so that pain kept me wakeful; and I was afoot 
again before the peep of day, crouching by the fires or trotting 
to and fro at the stream's edge, to combat the aching of my 
limbs. At last dawn began to break upon hoar woods and 
mountains, the sleepers rolled in their robes, and the boister- 
ous river dashing among spears of ice. I stood looking about 
me, swaddled in my stiff coat of a bull's fur, and the breath 
smoking from my scorched nostrils, when, upon a sudden, a 
singular, eager cry rang from the borders of the wood. The 
sentries answered it, the sleepers sprung to their feet; one 
pointed, the rest followed his direction with their eyes, and 
there, upon the edge of the forest and betwixt two trees, we 
beheld the figure of a man reaching forth his hands like one 
in ecstasy. The next moment he ran forward, fell on his 
knees at the side of the camp, and burst in tears. 

This was John Mountain, the trader, escaped from the most 
horrid perils ; and his first word, when he got speech, was to 
ask if we had seeen Secundra Dass. 

44 Seen what?" cries Sir William. 

4 4 No," said 1, 44 we have seen nothing of him. Why?" 

44 Nothing?" says Mountan. 44 Then 1 was right after all." 
With that he struck his palm upon his brow. 44 But what 
takes him back?" he cried. 44 What takes the man back 
among dead bodies? There is some damned mystery here." 

This was a word which highly aroused our curiosity, but I 
shall be more perspicacious if I narrate these incidents in 
their true order. Here follows a narrative which 1 have com- 
piled out of three sources, not very consistent in all points: 

First , a written statement by Mountain, in which every- 
thing criminal is cleverly smuggled out of view; 

Second, two conversations with Secundra Dass; and. 

Third, many conversations with Mountain himself, in which 
he was pleased to be entirely plain; for the truth is he regarded 
me as an accomplice. 

NARRATIVE OF THE TRADER, MOUNTAIN. 

The crew that went up the river under the joint command 
of Captain Harris and the master numbered in all nine per- 
sons, of whom (if I except Secundra Dass) there was not one 
that had not merited the gallows. From Harris downward 


170 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


the voyagers were notorious in that colony for desperate, 
bloody-minded miscreants; some were reputed pirates, the 
most hawkers of rum; all ranters and drinkers; all fit asso- 
ciates, embarking together without remorse, upon this treach- 
erous and murderous design. 1 could not hear there was much 
discipline or any set captain in the gang; but Harris and four 
others, Mountain himself, two Scotchmen — Pinkerton and 
Hastie — and a man of the name of Hicks, a drunken shoe- 
maker, put their heads together and agreed upon the course. 
In a material sense, they were well enough provided; and the 
master in particular brought with him a tent where he might 
enjoy some privacy and shelter. 

Even this small indulgence told against him in the minds 
of his companions. But indeed he was in a position so en- 
tirely false (and even ridiculous) that all his habit of command 
and arts of pleasing were here thrown away. In the eyes of 
ail, except Secundra Dass, he figured as a common gull and 
designated victim; going unconsciously to death; yet he could 
not but suppose himself the contriver and the leader of the 
expedition; he could scarce help but so conduct himself; and 
at the least hint of authority or condescension, his deceivers 
' would be laughing in their sleeves. I was so used to see and 
to conceive him in a high, authoritative attitude, that when I 
had conceived his position on this journey, 1 was pained and 
could have blushed. How soon he may have entertained a 
first surmise, we can not know; but it was long, and the party 
had advanced into the wilderness beyond the reach of any 
help ere he was fully awakened to the truth. 

It fell thus. Harris and some others had drawn apart into 
the woods for consultation, when they were startled by a rus- 
tling in the brush. They were all accustomed to the arts of 
Indian warfare, and Mountain had not only lived and hunted, 
but fought and earned some reputation with the savages. He 
could move in the woods without noise, and follow a trail like 
a hound; and upon the emergence of this alert, he was de- 
puted by the rest to plunge into the thicket for intelligence. 
He was soon convinced there was a man in his close neighbor- 
hood, moving with precaution but without art among the 
leaves and branches; and coming shortly to a place of advan- 
tage, he was able to observe Secundra Dass crawling briskly 
off with many backward glances. At this he knew not whether 
to laugh or cry; and his accomplices, when he had returned 
and reported, were in much the same dubiety. There was now 
no danger of an Indian onslaught; but on the other hand, 
since Secundra Dass was at the pains to spy upon them, it was 


171 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

i 

highly probable he knew English, and if he knew English it 
was certain the whole of their design was in the master’s 
knowledge. There was one singularity in the position. If 
Secundra Hass knew and concealed his knowledge of English, 
Harris was a proficient in several of the tongues of India, and 
as his career in that part of the world had been a great deal 
worse than profligate, he had not thought proper to remark 
upon the circumstance. Each side had thus a spy-hole on the 
counsels of the other. The plotters, so soon as this advantage 
was explained, returned to camp; Harris, hearing the Hindoo- 
stanee was once more closeted with his master, crept to the side 
of the tent; and the rest, sitting about the fire with their 
tobacco, awaited his report with impatience. When he came 
at last his face was very black. He had overheard enough to 
confirm the worst of his suspicions. Secundra Hass was a good 
English scholar; he had been some days creeping and listen- 
ing, the master was now fully informed of the conspiracy, and 
the pair proposed on the morrow to fall out of line at a carry- 
ing place and plunge at a venture in the woods: preferring the 
full risk of famine, savage beasts, and savage men to their 
position in the midst of traitors. 

What, then, was to be done? Some were for killing the 
master on the spot; but Harris assured them that would be a 
crime without profit, since the secret of the treasure must die 
along with him that buried it. Others were for desisting at 
once from the whole enterprise and making for New York; 
but the appetizing name of treasure, and the thought of the 
long way they had already traveled dissuaded the majority. I 
imagine they were dull fellows for the most part. Harris, 
indeed, had some acquirements, Mountain was no fool, Hastie 
was an educated man; but even these had manifestly failed in 
life, and the rest were the dregs of colonial rascality. The 
conclusion they reached, at least, was more the offspring of 
greed and hope than reason. It was to temporize, to be wary 
and watch the master, to be silent and supply no further ail- 
ment to his suspicions, and to depend entirely (as well as I 
make out) on the chance that their victim was as greedy, 
hopeful, and irrational as themselves, and might, after all, 
betray his life and treasure. 

7 ::ce, in the course of the next day, Secundra and the 
: .,.m must have appeared to themselves to have escaped; 
t'»> ice hey were circumvented. The master, save that the 
1 1 rime, he grew a little pale, displayed no sign of disap- 
unent, apologized for the stupidity with which he had 
thanked his recapturers as for a service, and re- 


1 72 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

r - 

joined the caravan with all his usual gallantry and cheerful- 
ness of mien and bearing. But it is certain he had smelled a 
rat; for from thenceforth he and Secundra spoke only in each 
other's ear, and Harris listened and shivered by the tent in 
vain. The same night it was announced they were to leave 
the boats and proceed by foot: a circumstance which (as it put 
an end to the confusion of the portages) greatly lessened the 
chances of escape. 

And now there began between the two sides a silent contest, 
for life oil the one hand, for riches on the other. They were 
now near that quarter of the desert in which the master him- 
self must begin to play the part of guide; and using this for a 
pretext of prosecution, Harris and his men sat with him every 
night about the tire, and labored to entrap him into some ad- 
mission. If he let slip his secret, he knew well it was the 
warrant for his death; on the other hand, he durst not refuse 
their questions, and must appear to help them to the best of 
his capacity, or he practically published his mistrust. And 
' yet Mountain assures me the man's brow was never ruffled. 
He sat in the midst of these jackals, his life depending by a 
thread, like some easy, witty householder at home by his own 
fire; an answer he had for everything — as often as not, a jest- 
ing answer; avoided threats, evaded insults; talked, laughed, 
and listened with an open countenance; and, in short, con- 
ducted himself in such a manner as must have disarmed sus- 
picion, and went near to stagger knowledge. Indeed Mountain 
confessed to me they would soon have disbelieved the captain's 
story, and supposed their designated victim still quite innocent 
of their designs, but for the fact that he continued (however 
ingeniously) to give the slip to questions, and the yet stronger 
confirmation of his repeated efforts to escape. The last of 
these, which brought things to a head, 1 am now to relate. 
And first I should say that by this time the temper of Harris's 
companions was utterly worn out; civility was scarce pre- 
tend el ; and for one very significant circumstance, the master 
and Secundra had been (on some pretext) deprived of weapons. 
On their side, however, the threatened pair kept up the parade 
of friendship handsomely; Secundra was all bows, the master 
all smiles; and on the last night of the truce he had even gone 
so far as to sing for the diversion of the company. It was ob- 
served that he had also eaten with unusual heartiness, and 
drank deep: doubtless from design. 

At least, about three in the morning, he came out of the 
tent into the open air, audibly mourning and complaining, 
with all the manner of a sufferer from surfeit. Tor some 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 173 

while, Secundra publicly attended on his patron, who at last 
became more easy, and fell asleep on the frosty ground behind 
the tent: the Indian returning within. Some time after, the 
sentry was changed; had the master pointed out to him, where 
he lay in what is called a robe of buffalo; and thenceforth kept 
an eye upon him (he declared) without remission. With the 
first of the dawn, a draught of wind came suddenly and blew 
open one side the corner of the robe; and with the same puff, 
the master’s hat whirled in the air and fell some yards 
away. 

The sentry, thinking it remarkable the sleeper should not 
awaken, thereupon drew near; and the next moment, with a 
great shout, informed the camp their prisoner was escaped. 
He had left behind his Indian, who (in the first vivacity of the 
surprise) came near to pay the forfeit of his life, and was, in 
fact, inhumanly mishandled; but Secuhdra, in the midst of 
threats and cruelties, stuck to it with extraordinary loyalty, 
that he was quite ignorant of his master’s plans, which might 
indeed be true, and of the manner of his escape, which was 
demonstrably false. Nothing was therefore left to the con- 
spirators but to rely entirely on the skill of Mountain. The 
night had been frosty, the ground quite hard; and the sun was 
no sooner up than a strong thaw set in. It was Mountain’s 
boast that few men could have followed that trail, and still 
fewer (even of the native Indians) found it. The master had 
thus a long start before his pursuers had the scent, and he 
must have traveled with surprising energy for a pedestrian so 
unused, since it was near noon before Mountain had a view of 
him. At this conjuncture the trader was alone, all his com- 
panions following, at his own request, several hundred yards 
in the rear; he knew the master was unarmed; his heart was 
besides heated with the exercise and lust of hunting; and see- 
ing the quarry so close, so defenseless, and seemingly so 
fatigued, he vaingloriously determined to effect the capture 
with his single hand. A step or two further brought him to 
one margin of a little clearing; on the other, with his arms 
folded and his back to a huge stone, the master sat. It is 
possible Mountain may have made a rustle, it is certain, at 
least, the master raised his head and gazed directly at that 
quarter of the thicket where his hunter lay. 44 1 could not be 
sure he saw me,” Mountain said; 44 he just looked my way 
like a man with his mind made up, and all the courage ran 
out of me like rum out of a bottle.” And presently, when 
the master looked away again, and appeared to resume those 
meditations - in which he had sat immersed before the trader’s 


174 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

coming, Mountain slunk stealthily back and returned to seek 
the help of his companions. 

And no w began the chapter of surprises, for the scout had 
scarce informed the others of his discovery, and they were yet 
preparing their weapons for a rush upon the fugitive, when 
the man himself appeared in their midst, walking openly and 
quietly, with his hands behind his back. 

“ Ah, men!” says he, on his beholding them. “ Here is a 
fortunate encounter. Let us get back to camp. ” 

Mountain had not mentioned his own weakness or the mas- 
ter’s disconcerting gaze upon the thicket, so that (with all the 
rest) his return appeared spontaneous. For all that, a hub- 
bub arose; oaths flew, fists were shaken, and guns pointed. 

“ Let us get back to camp,” said the master. “ I have an 
explanation to make, but it must be laid before you all. And 
in the meanwhile I would put up these weapons, one of which 
might very easily go off and blow away your hopes of treasure. 
I would not kill,” says he, smiling, “ the goose with the 
golden eggs.” 

The charm of his superiority once more triumphed; and the 
party, in no particular order, set off on their return. By the 
way he found occasion to get a word or two apart with 
Mountain. 

“ You are a clever fellow and a bold,” says he, “ but I am 
not so sure that you are doing yourself justice. 1 would have 
you to consider whether you would not do better, ay, and 
safer, to serve me instead of serving so commonplace a rascal 
as Mr. Harris. Consider of it,” he concluded, dealing the 
man a gentle tap upon the shoulder, “ and don’t be in haste. 
Dead or alive, you will find me an ill man to quarrel with.” 

When they were come back to the camp, where Harris and 
Pinkerton stood guard over Secundra, these two ran upon the 
master like viragoes, and were amazed out of measure when 
they were bidden by their comrades to “ stand back and hear 
what the gentleman had to say. ” The master had not flinched 
before their onslaught; nor, at this proof of the ground he had 
gained, did he betray the least sufficiency. 

“ Do not let us be in haste, ” says he. ‘ 4 Meat first and 
public speaking after.” 

With that they made a hasty meal; and as soon as it was 
done, the master, leaning on one elbow, began his speech. He 
spoke long, addressing himself to each except Harris, finding 
for each (with the same exception) some particular flattery. 
He called them “ bold, honest blades,” declared he had never 
seen a more jovial company, work better done, or pains more 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 175 

merrily supported. “ Well, then,” says he, “ some one asks 
me ‘ Why the devil I ran away?* But that is scarce worth 
answer, for I think you all know pretty well. But you know 
only pretty well: that is a point 1 shall arrive at presently, 
and be you ready to remark it when it comes. There is a 
traitor here: a double traitor: I will give you his name before 
I am done; and let that suffice for now. But here comes some 
other gentleman and asks me * Why in the devil I came 
back? 5 Well, before I answer that question, I have one to 
put to you. It was this cur here, this Harris, that speaks 
Hindoostanee?” cries he, rising on one knee and pointing fair at 
the man’s face, with a gesture indescribably menacing; and 
when he had been answered in the affirmative, “ Ah!” says 
he, “ then are all my suspicions verified, and I did rightly to 
come back. Now, men, hear the truth for the first time. 
Thereupon he launched forth in a long story, told with ex- 
traordinary skill how he had all along suspected Harris, how 
he had found the confirmation of his fears, and how Harris 
must have misrepresented what passed between Secundra and 
himself. At this point he made a bold stroke with excellent 
effect. “I suppose,” says he, “you think you are going 
shares with Harris, I suppose you think you will see to that 
yourselves; you would naturally not think so flat a rogue could 
cozen you. But have a care! These half idiots have a sort of 
cunning, as the skunk has its stench; and it may be news to 
you that Harris has taken care of himself already. Yes, for 
him the treasure is all money in the bargain. You must find 
it or go starve. But he has been paid beforehand; my brother 
paid him to destroy me; look at him, if you doubt — look at 
him, grinning and gulping, a detected thief!” Thence, hav- 
ing made this happy impression, he explained how he had es- 
caped, and thought better of it, and at last concluded to come 
back, lay the truth before the company, and take his chance 
with them once more: persuaded, as he was, they would in- 
stantly depose Harris and elect some other leader. “ There is 
the whole truth,” said he: “and with one exception, I put 
myself entirely in your hands. What is the exception? There 
he sits,” he cried, pointing once more to Harris; “ a man that 
has to die! Weapons and conditions are all one to me; put 
me face to face with him, and if you give me nothing but a 
stick, in five minutes I will show you a sop of broken carrion 
fit for dogs to roll in.” 

It- was dark night when he made an end; they had listened 
in almost perfect silence; but the fire-light scarce permitted 
any one to judge, from the look of his neighbors, with what 


176 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


result of persuasion or conviction. Indeed, the master had 
set himself in the brightest place, and kept his face there, to 
be the center of men’s eyes: doubtless on a profound calcula- 
tion. Silence followed for awhile, and presently the whole 
party became involved in disputation : the master lying on his 
back, with his hands knit under his head and one knee flung 
across the other, like a person unconcerned in the result. 
And here, 1 dare say, his bravado carried him too far and 
prejudiced his case. At least, after a cast or two backward 
and forward, opinion settled finally against him. It’s possible 
he hoped to repeat the business of the pirate ship, and be him- 
self, perhaps, on hard enough conditions, elected leader; and 
things went so far that way that Mountain actually threw out 
the proposition. But the rock he split upon was Hastie. This 
fellow was not well liked, being sour and slow, with an ugly, 
glowering disposition, but he had studied some time for the 
Church at Edinburgh College, before ill conduct had destroyed 
his prospects, and he now remembered and applied what he had 
learned. Indeed, he had not proceeded very far, when the 
master rolled carelessly upon one side, which was done (in 
Mountain’s opinion) to conceal the beginnings of despair upon 
his countenance. Hastie dismissed the most of what they had 
heard as nothing to the matter: what they wanted was the 
treasure. All that was said of Harris might be true, and they 
would have to see to that in time. But what had that to do 
with the treasure? They had heard a vast of words; but the 
truth was just this, that Mr. Durie was damnably frightened 
and had several times run off. Here he was — whether caught 
or come back was all one to Hastie: the point was to make an 
end of the business. As for the talk of deposing and electing 
captains, he hoped they were all free men and could attend 
their own affairs. That was dust flung in their eyes, and so 
was the proposal to fight Harris. “ He shall fight no one in 
this camp, I can tell him that,” said Hastie. “We had 
trouble enough to get his arms away from him, and we should 
look pretty fools to give them back again. But if it’s excite- 
ment the gentleman is after, I can supply him with more than 
perhaps he cares about. For I have no intention to spend the 
remainder of my life in these mountains; already I have been 
too long; and I propose that he shall immediately tell us 
where that treasure is, or else immediately be shot. And 
there,” says he, producing his weapon, “ there is the pistol 
that I mean to use.” 

“ pome, I call jmu a man,” cries the master, sitting up and 
looking at the speaker with an aim of admiration. 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


177 


“ I didn’t ask you to call me anything/’ returned Hastie; 
“ which is it to be?” 

“ That’s an idle question/’ said the master. “ Needs must 
when the devil drives. The truth is we are within easy walk 
of the place, and I will show it you to-morrow.” 

With that, as if all were quite settled, and settled exactly to 
his mind, he walked off to his tent, whither Secundra had pre- 
ceded him. 

1 can not think of these last turns and wriggles of my old 
enemy except with admiration; scarce even pity is mingled 
with the sentiment, so strongly the man supported, so boJdly 
resisted his misfortunes. Even at that hour, when he per- 
ceived himself quite lost, when he saw he had but effected an 
exchange of enemies, and overthrown Harris to set Hastie up, 
no sign of weakness appeared in his behavior, and he withdrew 
to his tent, already determined (I must suppose) upon affront- 
ing the incredible hazard of his last expedient with the same 
easy, assured, genteel expression aud demeanor as he might 
have left a theater withal to join a supper of the wits. But 
doubtless within, if we could see there* his soul trembled. 

Early in the night, word went about the camp that he was 
sick; and the first thing the next morning he called Hastie to 
his side, and inquired most anxiously if he had any skill in 
medicine. As a matter of fact, this was a vanity of that fallen 
divinity student’s to which he had cunningly addressed him- 
self. Hastie examined him; and being flattered, ignorant, 
and highly suspicious, knew not in the least whether the man 
was sick or malingering. In this state, he went forth again to 
his companions; and (as the thing which would give himself 
most consequence either way) announced that the patient was 
in a fair way to die. 

“ For all that,” he added, with an oath, “ and if he bursts 
by the way-side, he must bring us this morning to the treas- 
ure. ” 

But there were several in the camp (Mountain among the 
number) whom this brutality revolted. They would have seen 
the master pistoled, or pistoled him themselves, without the 
smallest sentiment of pity; but they seem to have been 
touched by his gallant fight and unequivocal defeat the night 
before; perhaps, too, they were even already beginning to op- 
pose themselves to their new leader: at least, they now declared 
that (if the man was sick) he should have a day’s rest in spite 
of Hastie’s teeth. 

The next morning he was manifestly worse, and Hastie him- 
self began to display something of humane concern, so easily 


178 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

does even the pretense of doctoring awaken sympathy. The 
third, the master called Mountain and Hastie to the tent, an- 
nounced himself to be dying, gave them full particulars as to 
the position of the cache, and begged them to set out incon- 
tinently on the quest, so that they might see if he deceived 
them, and (if they were at first unsuccessful), he should be 
able to correct their error. 

But here arose a difficulty on which he doubtless counted. 
None of these men would trust another, none would consent 
to stay behind. On the other hand, although the master 
seemed extremely low, spoke scarce above a whisper, and lay 
much of the time insensible, it was still possible it was a 
fraudulent sickness; and if all went treasure-hunting, it might 
prove they had gone upon a wild-goose chase, and return to 
find their prisoner flown. They concluded, therefore, to hang 
idling round the camp, alleging sympathy to their reason; and 
certainly, so mingled are our dispositions, several were sincere- 
ly (if not very deeply) affected by the natural peril of the man 
whom they callously designed to murder. In the afternoon, 
Hastie was called to the bedside to pray: the which (incredible 
as it must appear) he did with unction; about eight at night, 
the wailing of Secundra announced that all was over, and be- 
fore ten the Indian, with a link stuck in the ground, was toil- 
ing at the grave. Sunrise of next day beheld the master's 
burial, all hands attending with great decency of demeanor; 
and the body was laid in the earth wrapped in a fur robe, with 
only the face uncovered; which last was of a waxy whiteness, 
and had the nostrils plugged according to some Oriental habit 
of Secundra's. No sooner was the grave filled than the 
lamentations of the Indian once more struck concern to every 
heart; and it appears this gang of murderers, so far from re- 
senting his outcries, although both distressful and (in such a 
country) perilous to their own safety, roughly but kindly en- 
deavored to console him. 

But if human nature is even in the worst of men occasionally 
kind, it is still, and before all things, greedy; and they soon 
turned from the mourner to their own concerns. The cache 
of the treasure being hard by, although yet unidentified, it 
was concluded not to break camp; and the day passed, on the 
part of the voyagers, in unavailing exploration of the woods, 
Secundra the while lying on his master's grave. That night 
they placed no sentinel, but lay all together about the hre, j n 
the customary woodman fashion, the heads outward, like the 
spokes of a wheel. Morning found them in the same disposi- 
tion; only Pinkerton, who iay on Mountain's right, between 


THE MASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 


179 


him and Hastie, had (in the hours of darkness) been secretly 
butchered, and there lay, still wrapped as to his body in his 
mantle, but offering above that ungodly and horrific spectacle 
of the scalped head. The gang were that morning as pale as 
a company of phantoms, for the pertinacity of Indian war (or, 
to speak more correctly, Indian murder), was well known to 
all. But they laid the chief blame on their unsentineled post- 
ure; and fired with the neighborhood of the treasure, deter- 
mined to continue where they were. Pinkerton was buried 
hard by the master; the survivors again passed the day in ex- 
ploration, and returned in a mingled humor of anxiety and 
hope, being partly certain they were now close on the discovery 
of what they sought, and on the other hand (with the return 
of darkness) were infected with the fear of Indians. Mountain 
was the first sentry; he declares he neither slept nor yet sat 
down, but kept his watch with a perpetual and straining vigi- 
lance, and it was even with unconcern that (when he saw by 
the stars his time was up) he drew near the fire to waken his 
successor. This man (it was Hicks the shoe-maker) slept on 
the lee-side of the circle, somewhat further off in consequence 
than those to windward, and in a place darkened by the blow- 
ing smoke. Mountain stooped and took him by the shoulder; 
his hand was at once smeared by some adhesive wetness; and 
(the wind at the moment veering) the fire-light shone upon the 
sleeper and showed him, like Pinkerton, dead and scalped. 

It was clear they had fallen in the hands of one of those 
matchless Indian bravos, that will sometimes follow a party 
for days, and in spite of indefatigable travel and unsleeping 
watch, continue to keep up with their advance and steal a scalp 
at every resting : place. Upon this discovery, the treasure- 
seekers, already reduced to a poor half dozen, fell into mere 
dismay, seized a few necessaries, and deserting the remainder 
of their goods, fled outright into the forest. Their fire, they 
left still burning, and their dead comrade unburied. All day 
they ceased not to flee, eating by the way, from hand to 
mouth; and since they feared to sleep, continued to advance 
at random even in the hours of darkness. But the limit of 
man's endurance is soon reached ; when they rested at last, it 
was to sleep profoundly; and when they woke, it was to find 
that the enemy was still upon their heels, and death and 
mutilation had once more lessened and deformed their com- 
pany. 

By this, they had become light-headed, they had quite 
missed their path in the wilderness, their stores were already 
running low. With the further horrors, it is superfluous that 


180 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


I should swell this narrative, already too prolonged. Suffice 
it to say, that when at length a night passed by innocuous, 
and they might breathe again in the hope that the murderer 
had at last desisted from pursuit, Mountain and Secundra were 
alone. The trader is firmly persuaded their unseen enemy 
was some warrior of his own acquaintance, and that he him- 
self was spared by favor. The mercy extended to Secundra 
he explains on the ground that the East Indian was thought 
to be insane; partly from the fact that, through all the horrors 
of the flight and while others were casting away their very 
food and weapons, Secundrajcontinued to stagger forward with 
a mattock on his shoulder; and partly because, in the last days 
and with a great degree of heat and fluency, he perpetually 
spoke with himself in his own language. But he was sane 
enough when it came to English. 

44 You think he will be gone quite away?” he asked, upon 
their blessed awakening in safety. 

“ I pray God so, I believe so, I dare to believe so,” Mount- 
ain had replied almost with incoherence as he described the 
scene to me. 

And indeed he was so much distempered that until he met 
us, the next morning, he could scarce be certain whether he 
had dreamed, or whether it was a fact,, that Secundra had 
thereupon turned directly about and returned without a word 
upon their foot-prints, setting his face for these wintery and 
hungry solitudes, along a path whose every stage was mile- 
stoned with a mutilated corpse. 


THE JOURNEY IN THE WILDERNESS ( Continued ). 

Mountain's story, as it was laid before Sir William John- 
son and my lord, was shorn, of course, of all the earlier par- 
ticulars, and the expedition described to have proceeded un- 
eventfully, until the master sickened. But the latter part was 
very forcibly related, the speaker visibly thrilling to his recol- 
lections; and our then situation, on the fringe of the same 
desert, and the private interests of each, gave him an audience 
prepared to share in his emotions. For Mountain's intelli- 
gence not only changed the world for my Lord Durrisdeer, 
but materially affected the designs of Sir William Johnson. 

These I find 1 must lay more at length before the re; dcr. 
Word had reached Albany of dubious import; it had 
rumored some hostility was to be put in act; and the Ii 
diplomatist had, thereupon, spedUnto the wilderness, ev< • 
the approach of winter, to nip that mischief in the t 


THE MASTER OF BALLAMTRAE. 


181 


Here, on the borders, he learned that he was come too late; 
and a difficult choice was thus presented to a man (upon the 
whole) not any more bold than prudent. His standing with 
the painted braves may be compared to that of my Lord Presi- 
dent Culloden among the chiefs of our own Highlanders at the 
'forty-five; that is as much as to say, he was, to these men, 
reason's only speaking trumpet, and counsels of peace and 
moderation, if they were to prevail at all, must prevail singly 
through his influence. If, then, he should return, the prov- 
ince mi*st lie open to all the abominable tragedies of Indian 
war — the houses blaze, the wayfarer be cut otf, and the men 
of the woods collect their usual disgusting spoil of human 
scalps. On the other side, to go further forth, to risk so small 
a party deeper in the desert, to carry words of peace among 
warlike savages already rejoicing to return to war: here was 
an extremity from which it was easy to perceive his mind re- 
volted. 

t£ 1 have come too late," he said more than once, and would 
fall into a deep consideration, his head bowed in his hands, his 
foot patting the ground. 

At length he raised his face and looked upon us, that is to 
say, upon my lord. Mountain, and myself, sitting close round 
a small fire, which had been made for privacy in one corner 
of the camp. 

“ My lord, to be quite frank with you, I find myself in two 
minds," said he. “I think it very needful I should goon, 
but not at all proper I should any longer enjoy the pleasure 
of your company. We are here still upon the water-side; and 
1 think the risk to southward no great matter. Will not your- 
self and Mr. Mackellar take a single boat's crew and return to 
Albany?" 

My lord, 1 should say, had listened to Mountain's narrative 
regarding him throughout with a painful intensity of gaze; 
and since the tale concluded, had sat as in a dream. There 
was something very daunting in his look; something to my 
eyes not rightly human; the face, lean, and dark, and aged, 
the mouth painful, the teeth disclosed in a perpetual rictus; 
the eyeball swimming clear of the lids upon a field of blood- 
shot white. I could not behold him myself without a jarring 
ir:it:i'jiH». such as (I believe) is too frequently the uppermost 
f(* li »g on the sickness of those dear to us. Others, I could 
n ; ■ ■ rk, were scarce able to support his neighborhood 

- h U iiiia eviting to be near him, Mountain dodging his 
e; • i , ■ ,.n he met it, blanching and halting in his story. 


182 


THE MASTER OF BALLAKTRAE. 


At this appeal, however, my lord appeared to recover his com- 
mand upon himself. 

44 To Albany?” said he, with a good voice. 

44 Not short of ifc, at least,” replied Sir William. 44 There 
is no safety nearer at hand. ” 

44 I would be very sweir* to return,” says my lord. 44 1 am 
not afraid— of Indians,” he added, with a jerk. 

44 I wish that I could say so much,” returned Sir William, 
smiling; 44 although, if any man durst say it, it should be my- 
self. But you are to keep in view my responsibility, and that 
as the voyage has now become highly dangerous, and your 
business — if you ever had any,” says he, 44 brought quite to a 
conclusion by the distressing family intelligence you have re- 
ceived, I should be hardly justified if I even suffered you to 
proceed, and run the risk of some obloquy if anything regret- 
table should follow.” 

My lord turned to Mountain. 44 What did he pretend he 
died of?” he asked. 

44 1 don’t think I understand your honor,” said the trader, 
pausing like a man very much affected, in the dressing of some 
cruel frost-bites. 

For a moment my lord seemed at a full stop; and then, 
with some irritation, 44 1 ask you what he died of. Surely 
that’s a plain question,” said he. 

44 Oh, I don’t know,” said Mountain. 44 Hastie even never 
knew. He seemed to sicken natural, and just pass away.” 

44 There it is, you see!” concluded my lord, turning to Sir 
William. 

44 Your lordship is too deep for me,” replied Sir William. 

44 Why,” says my lord, 44 this is a matter of succession; my 
son’s title may be called in doubt; and the man being supposed 
to be dead of nobody can tell what, a great deal of suspicion 
would be naturally roused.” 

44 But, God damn me, the man’s buried!” cried Sir William. 

44 1 will never believe that,” returned my lord, painfully 
trembling. 44 I’ll never believe it!” he cried again, and 
jumped to his feet. 44 Did he look dead?” he asked of 
Mountain. 

44 Look dead?” repeated the trader. 44 He looked white. 
Why, what would he be at? I tell you, 1 put the sods upon 
him.” 

My lord caught Sir William by the coat with a hooked hand. 

* Unwilling. 


THE MASTER OF BALLAHTRAE. 


183 


“ This man has the name of my brother," says he, “ but it's 
well understood that he was never canny. ” 

‘ u Canny ?" says Sir William. “ What is that?" 

“ He's not of this world/"’ whispered my lord, “ neither 
him nor the black deil that serves him. I have struck my 
sword throughout his vitals/' he cried, “ I have felt the hilt 
dirl* on his breast-bone, and the hot blood spurt in my very 
face, time and again, time and again!" he repeated, with a 
gesture indescribable. ‘‘But he w T as never dead for that," 
said he, and I sighed aloud. “ Why should I think he was 
dead now? No, not till I see him rotting," says he. 

Sir William looked across at me, with a long face. Mount- 
ain forgot his wounds, staring and gaping. 

“ My lord," said 1, “ I wish you would collect your spirits." 
But my throat was so dry, and my own wits so scattered, I 
could add no more. 

“ No," says my lord, “ it's not to be supposed that he 
would understand me. Mackellar does, for he kens all, and 
has seen him buried before now. This is a very good servant 
to me. Sir William, this man Mackellar; he buried him with 
his own hands — he and my father — by the light of two siller 
candlesticks. The other man is a familiar spirit; he brought 
him from Coromandel. I would have told ye this long syne. 
Sir William, only it was in the family." These last remarks 
he made with a kind of melancholy composure, and his time 
of aberration seemed to pass away. “ You can ask yourself 
what it all means," he proceeded. ‘ 4 My brother falls sick, 
and dies, and is buried, as so they say; and all seems very 
plain. But why did the familiar go back? I think ye must 
see for yourself it's a point that wants some clearing." 

“ 1 will be at your service, my lord, in half a minute," said 
Sir William, rising. “ Mr. Mackellar, two words with you," 
and he led me without the camp, the frost crunching in our 
steps, the trees standing at our elbow hoar with frost, even as 
on that night in the Long Shrubbery. ‘‘♦Of course, this is 
midsummer madness?" said Sir William, so soon as we were 
gotten out of hearing. 

“ Why, certainly," said I. “ The man is mad. I think 
that manifest." 

“ Shall I seize and bind him?" asked Sir William. “ I 
will upon your authority. If these are all ravings, that should 
certainly be done. " 

I looked down upon the ground, back at the camp with its 

* Ring. 


184 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


bright fires and the folk watching us, and about me on the 
woods and mountains; there was just the one way that I could 
not look, and that was in Sir William’s face. 

“ Sir William,” said I, at last, “ I think my lord not sane, 
and have long thought him so. But there are degrees in 
madness; and whether he should be brought under restraint — 
Sir William, I am no fit judge,” I concluded. 

“ I will be the judge,” said he. “ I ask for facts. W T as 
there, in all that jargon, any word of truth or sanity? Do 
you hesitate?” he asked. “ Am I to understand you have 
buried this gentleman before?” 

“Not buried,” said I; and then, taking up courage at last, 
“ Sir William,” said I, “ unless I were to tell you a long story, 
which much concerns a noble family (and myself not in the 
least), it would be impossible to make this matter clear to 
you. Say the word, and I will do it, right or wrong. And, 
at any rate, I will say so much, that my lord is not so crazy as 
he seems. This is a strange matter, into the tail of which you 
are unhappily drifted.” 

“ I desire none of your secrets,” replied Sir William ; “ but 
I will be plain, at the risk of incivility, and confess that I take 
little pleasure in my present company.” 

“ I would be the last to blame you,” said I, “ for that.” 

“ I have not asked either for your censure or your praise, 
sir,” returned Sir William. “I desire supply to be quit of 
you; and to that effect, I put a boat and complement of men 
at your disposal.” 

“ This is fairly offered,” said I, after reflection. “ But you 
must suffer me to say a word upon the other side. We have 
a natural curiosity to learn the truth of this affair; I have 
some of it myself; my lord (it is very plain) has but too much. 
The matter of the Indian’s return is enigmatical.” 

“I think so myself,” Sir William interrupted, “and I 
propose (since I go in that direction) to probe it to the bot- 
tom. Whether or not the man has gone like a dog to die 
upon his master’s grave, his life, at least, is in great danger, 
and I propose, if I can, to save it. There is nothing against 
his character?” 

“ Nothing, Sir William,” 1 replied. 

“And the other?” he said. “I have heard my lord, of 
course; but, from the circumstances of his servant’s loyalty, I 
must suppose he had some noble qualities.” 

“You must not ask me that!” I cried. “ Hell may have 
noble flames. I have known him a score of years, and always 
hated, and always admired, and always slavishly feared him.” 


THE MASTER OF BALLAFTTRAE. 


185 


<c I appear to intrude again upon your secrets,” said Sir 
William, “ believe me, inadvertently. Enough that I will 
see the grave, and (if possible) rescue the Indian. IJpon 
these terms, can you persuade your master to return to Al- 
bany?” 

“ Sir William,” said I, “ I will tell you how it is. You do 
not see my lord to advantage; it will seem even strange to 
you that I should love him; but 1 do, and I am not alone. If 
he goes back to Albany, it must be by force, and it will be the 
death-warrant of his reason, and perhaps ms life. That is my 
sincere belief; but I am in your hands, and ready to obey, if 
you will assume so much responsibility as to command.” 

“ 1 will have no shred of responsibility; it is my single en- 
deavor to avoid the same,” cried Sir William. “ You insist 
upon following this journey up; and be it so! I wash my 
hands of the whole matter.” 

With which word, he turned upon his heel and gave the 
order to break camp; and my lord, who had been hovering 
near by, came instantly to my side. 

“ Which is it to be?” said he. 

“ You are to have your way,” I answered. “ You shall see 
the grave.” 


The situation of the master's grave was, between guides, 
easily described; it lay, indeed, beside a chief landmark of the 
wilderness, a certain range of peaks, conspicuous by their de- 
sign and altitude, and the source of many brawling tributaries 
to that inland sea, Lake Champlain. It was therefore possi- 
ble to strike for it direct, instead of following, back the blood- 
stained trail of the fugitives, and to cover, in some sixteen 
hours of march, a distance which their perturbed wanderings 
had extended over more than sixty. Our boats we left under 
a guard upon the river; it was, indeed, probable we should re- 
turn to find them frozen fast; and the small equipment with 
which we set forth upon the expedition, included not only an 
infinity of furs to protect us from the cold, but an arsenal of 
snow-shoes to render travel possible, when the inevitable snow 
should fall. Considerable alarm was manifested at our depart- 
ure; the march was conducted with soldierly precaution, the 
camp at night sedulously chosen and patroled; and it was a 
consideration of this sort that arrested us, the second day, 
within not many hundred yards of our destination — the night, 
being already imminent, the spot in which we stood well quali- 


186 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

fied to be a strong camp for a party of our numbers; and Sir 
William, therefore, on a sudden thought, arresting our ad- 
vance. 

Before us was the high range of mountains toward wdiich we 
had been all day deviously drawing near. From the first light 
of the dawn, their silver peaks had been the goal of our ad- 
vance across a tumbled lowland forest, thrid with rough 
streams, and strewn with monstrous bowlders; the peaks (as f 
say) silver, for already at the higher altitudes the snow fell 
nightly; but the woods and the low ground only breathed 
upon with frost. All day heaven had been charged with ugly 
vapors, in the which the sun swam and glimmered like a shil- 
ling piece; all day the wind blew on our left cheek, barbarous 
cold, but very pure to breathe. With the end of the after- 
noon, however, the wind fell; the clouds, being no longer re- 
enforced, were^scattered or drunk up; the sun set behind us 
with some wintery splendor, and the white brow of the mount- 
ains shared its dying glow. 

It was dark ere we had supper; we eat in silence, and the 
meal was scarce dispatched before my lord slunk from the 
fireside to the margin of the camp, whither I made haste to 
follow him. The camp was on high ground, overlooking a 
frozen lake, perhaps a mile in its longest measurement; all 
about us the forest lay in heights and hollows; above rose the 
white mountains; and higher yet, the moon rode in a fair sky. 
There was no breath of air; nowhere a twig creaked; and the 
sounds of our own camp were hushed and swallowed up in the 
surrounding stillness. Now that the sun and the wind were 
both gone down, it appeared almost warm, like a night of July; 
a singular illusion of the sense, when earth, air, and water 
were strained to bursting with the extremity of frost. 

My lord (or what I still continued to call by his loved name) 
stood with his elbow in one hand, and his chin sunk in the 
other, gazing before him on the surface of the wood. My 
eyes followed his, and rested almost pleasantly upon the frosted 
contexture of the pines, rising iu moonlit hillocks, or sinking 
in the shadow of small glens. Hard by, I told myself, was the 
grave of our enemy, noiv gone where the wicked cease from 
troubling, the earth heaped forever on his once so active limbs. 
1 could not but think of him as somehow fortunate, to be 
thus done with man's anxiety and weariness, the daily expense 
of spirit, and that daily river of circumstance to be swum 
through, at any hazard, uuder the penalty of shame or death. 
I could not but think how good was the end of that long travel; 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


187 


and with that, my mind swung at a tangent to my lord For. 
was not my lord dead also? a maimed soldier, looking vainly 
for discharge, lingering derided in the line of battle? A kind 
man, I remembered him; wise, with a decent pride, a son per- 
haps too dutiful, a husbaud only too loving, one that could 
suffer and be silent, one whose hand I loved to press. Of a 
sudden, pity caught in my wind -pipe with a sob; I could have 
wept aloud to remember and benold him; and standing thus 
by his elbow, under the broad moon, I prayed fervently either 
that he should be released or I strengthened to persist in my 
affection. 

44 Oh, God,” said I, 44 this was the best man to me and to 
himself, and now I shrink from him. He did no wrong, or 
not till he was broke with sorrows; these are but his honor- 
able wounds that we begin tQ shrink from. Oh, cover them 
up, oh, take him away, before we hate him!” 

I was still so engaged in my own bosom, when a sound broke 
suddenly upon the night. It was neither very loud nor very 
near; yet, bursting as it did from so profound and so pro- 
longed a silence, it startled the cam]o like an alarm of trum- 
pets. Ere I had taken breath, Sir William was beside me, 
the main part of the voyagers clustered at his back, intently 
giving ear. Methought, as I glanced at them across my 
shoulder, there was a whiteness, other than moonlight, on 
their cheeks; and the rays of the moon reflected with a sparkle 
on the eyes of some, and the shadows lying black under the 
brows of others (according as they raised or bowed the head to 
listen) gave to the group a strange air of animation and anx- 
iety. My lord was to the front, crouching a little forth, his 
hand raised as for silence; a man turned to stone. And still 
the sounds continued, breathlessly renewed, with a precipitate 
rhythm. 

Suddenly Mountain spoke in a loud, broken whisper, as of a 
man relieved. 44 1 have it now,” he said; and, as we all 
turned to hear him, 44 the Indian must have known the 
cache,” he added. 44 That is he — he is digging out the treas- 
ure.” 

“Why, to be sure!” exclaimed Sir William. 44 We were 
geese not to have supposed so much. ” 

44 The only thing is,” Mountain resumed, 44 the sound is 
very close to our old camp. And again, 1 do not see how he 
is there before us, unless the man had wings!” 

44 Greed and fear are wings,” remarked Sir William. 44 But 
this rogue has given us an alert, and I have a notion to return 


188 


THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 


the compliment. What say you, gentlemen, shall we have a 
moonlight hunt?” 

It was so agreed; dispositions were made to surround 
Secundra at his task; some of Sir William's Indians hastened 
in advance; and a strong guard being left at our head-quarters, 
we set forth along the uneven bottom of the forest; frost 
crackling, ice sometimes loudly splitting under-foot; and 
overhead the blackness of pine woods, and the broken bright- 
ness of the moon. Our way led down into a hollow of the 
land; and as we descended, the sounds diminished and had 
almost died away. Upon the other slope it was more open, 
only dotted with a few pines, and several vast and scattered 
rocks that made inky shadows in the moonlight. Here the 
sounds began to reach us more distinctly; we could now per- 
ceive the ring of iron, and more exactly estimate the furious 
degree of haste with which the digger plied his instrument. 
As we neared the top of the ascent, a bird or two winged aloft 
and hovered darkly in the moonlight; and the next moment, 
we were gazing through a fringe of trees upon a singular 
picture. 

A narrow plateau, overlooked by the white mountains, and 
encompassed nearer hand by woods, lay bare to the strong 
radiance of the moon. Hough goods, such as make the wealth 
of foresters, were sprinkled here and there upon the ground in 
meaningless disarray. About the midst, a tent stood, silvered 
with frost; the door open, gaping on the black interior. At 
the one end of this small stage lay what seemed the tattered 
remnants of a man. Without doubt we had arrived upon the 
scene of Harris's encampment; there were the goods scattered 
in the panic of flight; it was in yon tent the master breathed 
his last; and the frozen carrion that lay before us was the body 
of the drunken shoemaker. It was always moving to come 
upon the theater of any tragic incident; to come upon it after 
so many days, and to find it (in the seclusion of a desert) still 
unchanged, must have impressed the mind of the most care- 
less. And yet it was not that which struck us into pillars of 
stone; but the sight (which yet we had been half expecting) of 
Secundra, ankle deep in the grave of his late master. He had 
cast the main part of his raiment by, yet his frail arms and 
shoulders glistened in the moonlight with a copious sweat; his 
face was contracted with anxiety and expectation; his blows 
resounded on the grave, as thick sobs; and behind him, 
strangely deformed and ink-black upon the frosty ground, 
the creature's shadow repeated and parodied his swift gesticu- 
lations. Some night-birds arose from the boughs upon our 


THE MASTER OF BALLA 


coming, and then settled back; but Secundra, absorbed in hr 
toil, heard or heeded not at all. 

I heard Mountain whisper to Sir William: “ Good God, it’s 
the grave! He’s digging him up!” It was what we. had all 
guessed, and yet to hear it put in language thrilled me. Sir 
William violently started. 

“You damned sacrilegious hound!” he cried. “What’s 
this?” 

Secundra leaped in the air, a little breathless cry escaped 
him, the tool flew from his grasp, and he stood one instant 
staring at the speaker. The next, swift as an arrow, he sped 
for the woods upon the further side; and the next again, 
throwing up his hailds with a violent gesture of resolution, he 
had begun already to retrace his steps. 

“ Well, then, you come, you help — ” he was saying. But 
by now my lord had stepped beside Sir William; the moon 
shone fair upon his face, and the words were still upon Secun- 
dra’s lips when he beheld and recognized his master’s enemy. 
“Him!” he screamed, clasping his hands and shrinking on 
himself. 

“ Come, come,” said Sir William, “ there is none here to 
do you harm, if you be innocent; and if you be guilty, your 
escape is quite cut off. Speak, what do you here among the 
graves of the dead and the remains of the unburied?” 

“ You no murderer?” inquired Secundra. “ You true 
man? You see me safe?” 

“ I will see you safe, if you be innocent,” returned Sir 
William. “ I have said the thing, and I see not wherefore 
you should doubt it.” 

“There all murderers,” cried Secundra, “that is why! 
He kill — murderer,” pointing to Mountain; “ there two hire- 
murderers ” — pointing to my lord and myself — “ all gallows- 
murderers! Ah, I see you all swing in a rope. Now I go 
save the sahib; he see you swing in a rope. The sahib,” he 
continued, pointing to the grave, “ he not dead. He bury, 
he not dead. ” 

My lord uttered a little noise, moved nearer to the grave, 
and stood and stared in it. 

“ Buried and not dead?” exclaimed Sir William. “ What 
kind of rant is this?” 

“See, .sahib!” said Secundra. “The sahib and I alone 
with murderers; try all way to escape, no way good. Then 
try this way: good way in w u i way in India; 


190 THE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 

here in this dam cold place, who can tell? I tell you pretty 
good hurry: you help, you light a fire, help rub.” 

“ What is the creature talking of?” cried Sir William. 
“ My head goes round.” 

“I tell you I bury him alive,” said Secundra. “ 1 teach 
him swallow his tongue. Now dig him up pretty good hurry, 
and he not much worse. You light a fire.” 

Sir William turned to the nearest of his men. “ Light a 
fire,” said he. “ My lot seems to be cast with the insane.” 

“ You good man,” returned Secundra. “ Now I go dig 
the sahib up.” 

He returned as he spoke to the grave, and resumed his 
former toil. My lord stood rooted, and I at my lord's side: 
fearing. I knew not what. 

The frost was not yet very deep, and presently the Indian 
threw aside his tool and began to scoop the dirt by hand- 
fuls. 

Then he disengaged a corner of a buffalo robe: and then I saw 
hair catch among his fingers; yet a moment more, and the 
moon shone on something white. Awhile Secundra crouched 
upon his knees, scraping with delicate fingers breathing with 
puffed lips; and when he moved aside I beheld the face of the 
master wholly disengaged. It was deadly white, the eyes 
closed, the ears and nostrils plugged, the cheeks fallen, the 
nose sharp .as if in death; but for all he had lain so many days 
under the sod, corruption had not approached him and (what 
strangely affected all of us) his lips and chin were mantled 
with a swarthy beard. 

“ My God!” cried Mountain, “ he was as smooth as a baby 
when we laid him there!” 

“ They say hair grows upon the dead,” observed Sir Will- 
iam, but his voice was thick and weak. 

Secundra paid no heed to our remarks, digging swift as a 
terrier, in the loose earth; every moment, the form of the 
master, swathed in his buffalo robe, grew more distinct in the 
bottom of that shallow trough; the moon shining strong, and 
the shadows of the standers-by, as they drew forward and 
back, falling and flitting over his emergent countenance. The 
sight held us with a horror not before experienced, I dared not 
look my lord in the face, but for as long as it lasted, I never 
observed him to draw breath; and a little in the background 
one of the men (I know not whom) burst into a kind of sob- 
bing. 


1*HE MASTER OF BALLANTRAE. 19 1 

u Now,” said Secundra, “ you help me lift him out.” 

Of the flight of time I have no idea; it may have been three 
hours, and it may have been five, that the Indian labored to 
reanimate his master's body. One thing only I know, that it 
was still night, and the- moon was not yet set, although it had 
sunk low, and now barred the plateau with long shadows, 
when Secundra uttered a small cry Of satisfaction; and, lean- 
ing swiftly forth, 1 thought I could myself perceive a change 
upon that icy countenance of the unburied. The next mo- 
ment I beheld his eyelids flutter; the next they rose entirely, 
and the week-old corpse looked me for a moment in the 
face. 

So much display of life I can myself swear to. I have heard 
from others that he visibly strove to speak, that his teeth 
showed in his beard, and that his brow was contorted as with 
an agony of pain and effort. And this may have been; I know 
not, I was otherwise engaged. For, at that first disclosure of 
the dead man's eyes, my Lord Durrisdeer fell to the ground, 
and when I raised him up, he was a corpse. 


Day came, and still Secundra could not be persuaded to 
desist from his unavailing efforts. Sir William, leaving a 
small party under my command, proceeded on his embassy 
with the first light; and still the Indian rubbed the limbs and 
breathed in the mouth of the dead body. You would think 
such labors might have vitalized a stone; but, except for that 
one moment (which was my lord's death), the black spirit of 
the master held aloof from its discarded clay; and by about 
the hour of noon, even the faithful servant was at length con- 
vinced. He took it with unshaken quietude. 

“ Too cold,'' said he, “ good way in India, no good here.” 
And, asking for some food, which he ravenously devoured as 
soon as it was set before him, he drew near to the fire and 
took his place at my elbow. In the same spot, as soon as he 
had eaten, he stretched himself out, and fell into a child-like 
slumber, from which I must arouse him, some hours after- 
ward, to take his part as one of the mourners at the double 
funeral. It was the same throughout; he seemed to have out- 
lived at once and with the same effort, his grief for his master 
and his terror of myself and Mountain. - 

One of the men left with me was skilled in stone-cutting; 
and before Sir William returned to pick us up, I had chiseled 


192 THE MASTER OP BALLANTRAE. 

on a bowlder this inscription, *with a copy of which I may fitly 
bring my narrative to a close: 

J. D., 

HEIR TO A SCOTTISH TITLE, 

A MASTER OF THE ARTS AND GRACES, 

ADMIRED IN EUROPE, ASIA, AMERICA, 

IN WAR AND PEACE, 

IN THE TENTS OF SAVAGE HUNTERS AND THE 
CITADELS OF KINGS, AFTER SO MUCH 
ACQUIRED, ACCOMPLISHED, AND 
ENDURED, LIES HERE FOR- 
GOTTEN. 


H. D., 

HIS BROTHER, 

AFTER A LIFE OF UNMERITED DISTRESS, 
BRAVELY SUPPORTED, 

DIED ALMOST IN THE SAME HOUR, 
AND SLEEPS IN THE SAME GRAVE 
WITH HIS FRATERNAL ENEMY. 


THE PIETY OF HIS WIFE AND ONE OLD SERV- 
ANT RAISED THIS STONE 
TO BOTH. 


THE END. 


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vs. South. By Jules Verne. 
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192 Lady Grace. By Mrs. Henry 

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193 Hidden Perils. By Mary Cecil 

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194 The Last Days of Pompeii. By 

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195 Twenty Years After. By Alex- 

ander Dumas 25 

196 Lady Audlev’s Secret. By Miss 

M. E. Brad don 25 

197 Signa’s Sweetheart. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeme 25 

198 Mona’s Choice. By Mrs. Alex- 

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199 The Bride of the Nile. By 

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205 Only the Governess. By Rosa 

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206 Herr Paulus: liis Rise, His 

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202 Abbot, The. Sequel to “ The 
Monastery.” By Sir Walter 


Scott 20 

788 Absentee, The. An Irish Story. 

By Maria Edgeworth 20 

829 Actor s Ward, The. By the au- 
thor of “A Fatal Dower”... 20 

36 Adam Bede. By George Eliot. 

First halt 20 

36 Adam Bode. By George EliOfc. 

Second half 20 

388 Addie s Husband; or, Through 
Clouds to Sunshine. By the 
author of “ Love or Lands?”. 10 
5 Admiral's Ward, The. By Mrs. 
Alexander 20 

127 Adrian Bright. By Mrs. Caddy 20 
500 Adrian Vidal. Bv W. E. Norris 20 
477 Affinities. By Mrs. Campbeli- 

Praed 10 

413 Afloat and Ashore. By J. Fen- 
i more Cooper 20 

128 Afternoon, and Other Sketch- 

es. By “ Ouida” 10 

603 Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant. First 

half 20 

603 Agnes. By Mrs. Oliphant. Sec- 
ond half 20 

218 Agnes Sorel. By G. P. R. James 20 
14 Airy Fairy Lilian. By ‘‘The 
Duchess”. - 10 


274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 

/ Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biograohical Sketch 

and Letters 10 

636 Alice Lorraine. ByR. D. Black- 

more. 1st half 20 

636 Alice Lorraine. By R. D. Black- 
more. 2d half 20 


650 Alice; or. The Mysteries. (A Se- 
quel to ” Ernest Maltravers.”) 

By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 20 

462 Alice’s Adventures in Wonder- 
land. By Lewis Carroll, With 
forty -two illustrations by 


John Tenniel 20 

989 Allan Qwatermain. By H. 

Rider Haggard 20 

97 All in a Garden Fair. By Wal- 
ter Besant 20 

484 Although He Was a Lord, and 
Other Tales. Mrs. Forrester. 10 
47 Altiora Peto. By Laurence Oli- 
phant 20 

253 Amazon, The. Carl Vosmaer 10 

447 American Notes. By Charles 

Dickens 20 

176 An April Day. By Philippa 

Prittie Jeplison 10 

1101 An Egyptian Princess. By 

George Ebers. Vol. 1 20 

1101 An Egyptian Princess. By 

George Ebers. Vol. II 20 


S 


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40? An English Squire. By C. R. 

Coleridge 20 

897 Ange; or, A Broken Blossom. 

By Florence Marryat 20 

648 Angel of the Bells, The. By F. 

Du Boisgobey 20 

889 An Inland Voyage. By Robert 

Louis Stevenson 10 

263 An Ishmaelite. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

154 Annan Water. By Robert Bu- 
chanan 20 

200 An Old Man’s Love. By An- 
thony Trollope 10 


750 An Old Story of My Funning 
Days. Fritz Reuter. 1st half 20 
750 An Old Story of My Farming 
Days. Fritz Reuter. 2d lmlf 20 
93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiog- 


raphy 20 

995 An Unnatural Bondage, and 
That Beautiful Lady. By 
Charlotte M. Braeine, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

843 Archie Lovell. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20 

395 Archipelago on Fire, The. By 

Jules Verne 10 

532 Arden Court. Barbara Graham 20 
1029 Armadale. By Wilkie Colhns. 

1st half 20 

1029 Armadale. By Wilkie Collins. 

2d half 20 

247 Armourer’s Prentices, The. By 

Charlotte M. Yonge 10 

813 Army Society. Life in a Garri- 
son Town By J. S. Winter. . 10 
990 Arnold’s Promise. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

224 Arundel Motto, The. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

347 As Avon Fiovvs. By Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

541 “ As it Fell Upon a Day.” by 
“The Duchess;” and Uncle 
Jack, by Walter Besant 10 


560 Asphodel. Miss M. E. Braddon 20 
540 At a High Price. By E. Werner 20 
352 At Any Cost. By Edw. Garrett 10 
564 At Bay. By Mrs. Alexander.. 10 
528 At His Gates. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 
192 At the World’s Mercy. By F. 


Warden 10 

287 At War With Herself. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 10 

923 At War With Herself. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme. (Large type 

edition) 20 

1135 Aunt Diana. By Rosa Nou- 

chette Carey 20 

737 Aunt Rachel. By David Christie 

Murray 10 

760 Aurelian; or. Rome in the 
Third Century. By William 

Ware 20 

74 Aurora Floyd. By Miss M. E. 
Braddon 20 


997 Australian Aunt, The. By Mrs. 

Alexander 20 

730 Autobiography of Benjamin 
Franklin, The 10 

328 Babiole. the Pretty Milliner. By 
F. Du Boisgobey. 1st half... 20 
328 Babiole. the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. 2d half 20 

241 Baby's Grandmother, The. By 

L. B. Walford 10 

342 Baby, The. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

611 Babylon. By Cecil Power 20 

443 Bachelor of the Albany, The.. 10 
683 Bachelor Vicar of Newforth, 
The. By Mrs. J. Harcourt Roe 20 
871 Bachelor’s Blunder, A. By W. 

E. Norris 20 

65 Back to the Old Home. By 

Mary Cecil Hay 10 

847 Bad to Beat. By Hawley Smart 10 
1113 Bailiff’s Maid, The. By E. Mar- 

litt 20 

834 Ballroom Repentance, A. By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

494 Barbara. By “ The Duchess ” 10 
551 Barbara Heathcote s Trial. By 

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551 Barbara Heathcote’s Trial. By 

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99 Barbara's History. By Amelia 

B Edwards 20 

234 Barbara; or. Splendid Misery. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

91 Barnaby Rudge. By Charles 

Dickens. 1st half 20 

91 Barnaby Rudge. By Charles 
Dickens. 2d half 20 


653 Barren Title, A. T. W. Speight 10 
731 Bayou Bride. The. By Mrs. 

Mary E. Br\ an 20 

794 Beaton’s Bargain. By Mrs. Al- 


exander 20 

717 Beau Tancrede; or, the Mar- 
riage Verdict. By Alexander 

Dumas 20 

1079 Beautiful Jim: of the Blank- 
shire Regiment. By John 

Strange Winter 20 

29 Beauty’s Daughters. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

1179 Beauty’s Marriage; or, “What 
Some Have Found So Sweet.” 

By Charlotte M. Braeme 10 


86 Belinda. By Rhoda Broughton 20 
929 Belle of Lynn. The; or, The 
Miller’s Daughter. B.v Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

593 Berna Boyle. By Mrs. J. H. 

Riddell 20 

10-10 Bertha's Secret. By B’. Du 

Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

1080 Bertha’s Secret. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 2d half 20 

1166 Betrothed, The. By Sir Walter 

Scott, Bart. 1st half 20 

1166 Betrothed, The. By Sir Walter 
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466 Between Two Loves. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeine. author of 

“Dora Thorne’'' 

476 Between Two Sins; or, Married 
in Haste. By Charlotte M. 
Braeine, author of “Dora 
Thorne ” 

4S3 Betwixt My Love and Me. By 
the author of “A Goiden Bar ” 
308 Beyond Pardon. By Charlotte 

M. Braeine 

1257 Beyond Recall. By Adeline Ser- 
geant 

653 Birds of Prey. By Miss M. E. 

Bruddon 

820 Bit of Human Nature, A. By 

David Christie Murray 

411 Bitter Atonement, A. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeine, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 

430 Bitter Reckoning:. A. By the au- 
thor of “ B}’ Crooked Paths ” 
353 Black Dwarf, The. By Sir 
Waller Scott 

802 Blatchford Bequest, The. By 
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“Called Back” 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dick- 
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106 Bleak House. By Charles Dick- 
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968 Blossom and Fruit: or, Ma- 
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of “ Wedded Hands” 

842 Blue-Stocking, A. By Mrs. An- 
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492 Booties’ Baby ; or, Miguou. By 
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1121 Booties’ Children. By John 

Strange Winter 

935 Borderland. Jessie Fothergill. 
429 Bonlderslone. By Win, Sime. 
830 Bound by a Spell. Hugh Con- 
way. author of “ Called Back” 
394 Bravo, The. By J. Feniinore 

Cooper. 

987 Brenda Yorke. By Mary Cecil 
Hay 

299 Bride from the Sea, A. By 

Charlotte M. Braetue, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 

862 Bride of Lammennoor, The. 

By Sir Walter Scott 

259 Bride of Moute Cristo. The. A 
Sequel to “ The Count of 
Monte-Cristo.” By Alexan- 
der Dumas 

1056 Bride of the Nile, The. By 

George Ebers. 1st half 

1056 Bride of the Nile, The. By 
George Ebers. 2d half 

300 Bridge of Love, A. By Char- 

lotte M. Braeine, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 

907 Bright Star of Life, The. By 

B. L. Farjeon 

642 Britta. By George Temple.. . . 


76 Broken Heart, A; or, Wife in 
Name Only. By Charlotte 
M. Braeine, author of “ Dora 

Thorite ” 20 

54 Broken Wedding-Ring, A. By 
Charlotte M. Braeine, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

898 Bulldog and Butterfly. By Da- 
vid Christie Murray 20 

1097 Burgomaster’s Wife, The. By 

George Ebers 20 

317 By Mead aud Stream. By Chas. 

Gibbon 2f 

58 By the Gate of the Sea. By D. 
Christie Murray 10 

739 Caged Lion, The. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

240 Called Back. By Hugh Conway 10 
602 Camiola: A Girl With a Fort- 
une. B 3 r Justin McCarthy 20 

186 Canon’s Ward, The. By James 

Payn 20 

149 Captain’s Daughter, The. 

From the Russian of Pushkin 10 
159 Captain Norton’s Diary, aud 
A Moment of Madness. By 

Florence Marryat 10 

555 Cara Roma. By Miss Grant. . . 20 
711 Cardinal Sin, A. By Hugh 
Conway, author of “Called 
Back” 20 


502 Carriston’sGlft. By Hugh Con- 
way, author of “Called Back ” 10 
917 Case of Reuben Malachi, The. 

By H. Sutherland Edwards. . 10 
937 Cashel Byron's Profession. By 


George Bernard Shaw 20 

942 Cash on Delivery. By F. Du 

Boisgobey 20 

364 Castle Dau’gerous. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 10 

1001 Castle's Heir, The; or. Lady 
Adelaide’s Oath. By Mrs. 

Henry Wood.. 20 

770 Castle of Otranto, The. By 

Horace Walpole 10 

746 Cavalry Life; or, Sketches aud 
Stories in Barracks aud Out. 

By J. S. Winter 20 

419 Chainbearer, The; or, The Li t- 
tlepnge Manuscripts. By J. 

Feniinore Cooper 20 

1003 Chandos. By “ Ouida.” 1st 

half 20 

1003 Chandos. By “Ouida.” 2d 

half 20 

783 Chantry House. By Charlotte 
M. Yonge 20 


790 Chaplet of Pearls, The ; or. The 
White and Black Ribaiimonr,. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 1st half 20 
790 Chaplet of Pearls, The; or. The 
White and Black Ribaumont. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 2d half 20 
212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish 
Dragoon. By Charles Lever. 

1st half 20 


20 

10 

10 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

20 

20 

10 

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10 

20 

20 

20 

10 

20 

10 

20 

20 

10 

20 

10 


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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition, 


212 Charles O’Malley, the Irish 
Dragoon. By Charles Lever. 

2d half 20 

554 Charlotte’s Inheritance. (A Se- 
quel to “ Birds of Prey.”) By 

Miss M. E. Bradion 20 

61 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. 

Rowson 10 

58S Cherry. By the author of “A 

Great Mistake” 10 

7 13 “ Cherry Ripe.” By Heleu B. 

Mathers 20 

719 Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage. 

By Lord Byron 10 

966 Childhood's Memories. By 

John St ran ire Winter 20 

882 Children of Gibeou. By Walter 

Besant 20 

920 Child of the Revolution, A. By 
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676 Child’s History of England, A. 

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1084 Chris. By W. E. Norris 20 

657 Christmas Angel. By B. L. Far- 
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631 Christowell. R. D. Blackmore 20 
507 Chronicles of the Canongate, 

and Other Stories. By Sir 
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33 Clique of Gold, The. By Emile 

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782 Closed Door, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

782 Closed Door, The. By F. Du 

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499 Cloven Foot, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

493 Colonel Enderby’s Wife. By 

Lucas Malet 20 

1140 Colonel Qnaritch, V. C. By H. 

Rider Haggard 20 

769 Cometh Up as a Flower. By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

221 Coinin’ Thro’ the Rye. By 

Helen B. Mathers 20 

1059 Confessions of an English Opi- 
um-Eater. By Thomas De 

Quincey 20 

1013 Confessions of Gerald Est- 
court. The. By Florence Mar- 

ryat.. 20 

523 Consequences of a Duel, The. 

By F. Du Boisgobey 20 

547 Coquette's Conquest, A. B3' 

Basil 20 

104 Coral Pin, The. By F. Du Bois 
gobey. 1st half 20 


Coral Pin, The. By F. Du Bois- 

gohey. 2d half 20 

Corinna. By “Rita” 10 

Cossacks, The. By Count Lyof 

Tolstoi . . .. 20 

Countess Eve, The. By J. H. 

Shorthouse 20 

Countess Gisela, The. By E. 

Murlitt 20 

Count of Monte-Cristo. The. 

By Alexander Dumas. Part I 80 
Count of Monte-Cristo. The. 

By Alexander Dumas. Part II 30 
Count's Secret, The. By Emile 


Gaboriau. Part 1 20 

Count’s Secret, The. By Emile 

Gaboriau. Part II 20 

Country Gentleman, A. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

Courting of Mary Smith, The. 

By F. W. Robinson 20 

Court- Royal.. A Story of Cross 
Currents. By S. Baring-Gould 20 
Cousin Pons! By Houor6 de 

Balzac 20 

Cousins. By L. B. Watford . . 20 
Cradle and Spade. By William 

Sime 20 

Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 1st half 20 

Cradock Nowell. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 2d half 20 

Cranford. Bv Mrs Gaskell. . . 20 
Cricket on the Hearth, The. 

By Charles Dickens 10 

Crime of Christmas Day, The. 

By the author of “ My Ducats 

and My Daughter” 10 

Crimson Stain, A. By Annie 

Bradshaw 10 

Cripps, the Carrier. By R. D. 

Blackmore 20 

Cry of Blood. The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

Cry of Blood, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 2d half: 20 

Curly: An Actor’s Story. By 
John Coleman. Illustrated. 10 
Cut by the County: or, Grace 
Darnel. Miss M. E. Braddon 10 


Cynic Fortune. By D. Christie 
Murray 20 

Daisy’s Dilemma. By Mrs. H. 

Lovett Cameron 20 

Dame Durden. By “Rita”.. 20 
Daniel Deronda. By George 

Eliot. 1st half 20 

Daniel Deronda. By George 

Eliot. 2d half 20 

Dark Days. By Hugh Conway 10 
Dark House, The: A Knot Un- 
raveled. By G. Man vi lie Fenn 10 
Dark Inheritance, A. By Mary 


<'eeil Hay 20 

Dark Marriage Morn, A. By 

Charlotte M Braeme 20 

Daughter of Heth, A. By Will- 
iam Black 20 


104 

598 

1U90 

1148 

1115 

262 

262 

979 

979 

687 

590 

787 

1128 

258 

649 

630 

630 

938 

103 

376 

706 

629 

851 

851 

504 

544 

826 

1025 

446 

34 

34 

301 

609 

1026 

975 

81 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


5 


251 Daughter of the Stars, The, and 
Other Tales. Hugh Conway, 

author of “ Called Back ” 10 

22 David Copperfleld. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. 1 20 

22 David Copperfleld. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. II 20 

§59 Da wn. By H. Rider Haggard. 20 
527 Days of My Lite, The. By Mrs. 

Ofiphant 20 

305 Dead Heart, A. By Charlotte 

M. Braeine 10 

274 Dead Man’s Secret, The; or, 
The Adventures of a Medical 
Student. By Dr. Jupiter Baeon 20 
567 Dead Men's Shoes. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

946 Dead Secret* The. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

1071 Death of Ivan Iliitch, The. By 

Count Lyof Tolstoi 10 

1062 D^erslayer, The; or, The First 
War* Path. By J. Feniinore 

Cooper. 1st half 20 

1062 Deerslayer, The; or, The First 
War - Path. By J. Feniinore 

Cooper. 2d half 20 

286 Deldee; or. The Iron Hand. By 

F. Warden 20 

1028 Devout Lover, A : or. A Wasted 

Love. By Mrs. H. Lovett Cam- 
eron 20 

115 Diamond Cut Diamond. By T. 

Adolphus Trollope 10 

1124 Diana Barrington. By B. M. 

Croker 20 

744 Diana Carew ; or. For a Wom- 
an's Sake. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

350 Diana of the Crossways. By 

George Meredith 10 

250 Diana's Discipline; or, Sun- 
shine and Roses. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeine 10 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 

Part 1 20 

478 Diavola; or. Nobody’s Daugh- 
ter. By Miss M. E. Braddon. 

Part 1 1 20 

87 Dick Sand : or. A Captain at 
Fifteen. By Jules Verne — 20 
486 Dick’s Sweetheart. By “The 

Duchess” 20 

536 Dissolving Views. By Mrs. An- 
drew Lang 10 

185 Dita. By Lady Margaret Ma- 
jendie 10 

894 Doctor Cupid. By Rhoda 

Brough 'on 20 

594 Doctor Jacob. By Miss Betham- 

Ed wards 20 

108 Doctor Marigold. By Charles 

Dickens 10 

529 Doctor's Wife, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

721 Dolores. By Mrs. Forrester. . 20 

107 Dorn bey and Son. By Charles 
Dickens. 1st half 20 


Dombey and Son. By Charles 

Dickens. 2d half 20 

Donal Grant. By George Mac- 
Donald 20 

Don Gesualdo. By“Ouida.’\ 10 

Donovan: A Modern English- 
man. By Edna Lyall. 20 


Doom ! An Atlantic Episode. 

By Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. 10 
Dora Thorne. By Charlotte M. 

Braeine 20 

1 >oris. By ” The Duchess ”... 10 
Doris's Fortune. By Florence 

Warden 20 

Dorothy Forster. By Walter 

Besant 20 

Dorothy’s Venture. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

Dove in the Eagle’s Nest, The. 

By Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

Drawn Game. A. By Basil... 20 
Driven to Bay. By Florence 

Marryat 20 

Driver Dallas. By John 

Strange Winter 10 

Duchess, The. By “ The Duch- 
ess ” 20 

Ducie Diamonds, The. By C. 

Blatherwick 10 

Dudley Carleon ; or. The Broth- 
er's Secret, and George Caul- 
field’s Journey. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 10 

Duke’s Secret, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeine, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

Dynamiter, The. By Robert 
Louis Stevenson and Fanny 
Van de Grift Stevenson 20 

East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood. 1st ha If 20 

East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood.' 2d halt 20 

Earl's Atonement, The. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme 20 

Fail’s Error, The. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme 20 

Elbe Ogilvie. By Mrs. Olipliant 20 

Egoist, The. By George Mere- 
dith. 20 

Elect Lady, The. By George 

MacDonald 20 

Elizabeth’s Fortune. By Ber- 
tha Thomas 20 

Emperor, The. By George 

Fliers 20 

England under Gladstone. 1880 
—1885. By Justin H. McCar- 
thy, M.P 20 

English Mail-Coach. The. By 

Thomas De Quincey . . 20 

Entangled. By E. Fairfax 
Byrrne 20 


107 

282 

671 

1149 

779 

51 

284 

820 

230 

678 

665 

585 

1022 

1033 

1035 

151 

549 

982 

855 

8 

8 

465 

990 

827 

1150 

1118 

960 

1106 

685 

1059 

521 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


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625 Erema; or. My Father’s Sin. 

13y R. D. Blackmore 20 

118 Eric Dering:. “The Duchess” 10 
96 Erling the Bold. By R. M. Bal- 

lantyue 10 

90 Ernest Maltravers. By Sir E. 

Bulvver Lytton 20 

1033 Esther: A Story for Girls. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey 20 

786 Ethel Mildmuy’s Follies. By 
author of “ Petite's Romance ” 20 
162 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bul- 

wer Lytton 20 

1122 Eve. By S. BaVing-Gould 20 

764 Evil Genius, The. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

470 Evelyn’s Folly. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

62 Executor, The. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander *. 20 

13 Eyre’s Acquittal. By Helen B. 
Mathers 10 

319 Face to Face : A Fact in Seven 
Fables. By R. E. Francillon. 10 
817 Facing the Footlights. By Flor- 
ence Marry at 20 

538 Fair Country Maid, A. By E. 

Fairfax Byrrne 20 

905 Fair-Haired Alda, The. By 

Florence Marry at 20 

261 Fair Maid, A. By F. W. Robin- 
son 20 

417 Fair Maid of Perth, The; or, 

St. Valentine’s Day. By Sir 
Walter Scott 20 

626 Fair Mystery, A. By Charlotte 

M. Braeine, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

727 F air Women. Mrs. Forrester 20 

30 Faith and Unfaith. By “The 

Duchess ” 20 

819 Fallen Idol, A. By F. Anstey.. 20 

294 False Vow, The; or, Hilda. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

928 False Vow. The; or. Hilda. By 
Charlotte M. Braeine, author 
of “Dora Thorne.” (Large 

type edition) 20 

543 Family Affair, A. By Hugh 
Conway, author of “Called 

Back” 20 

338 Family Difficulty, The. By Sa- 
rah Doudney 10 

690 Far From the Madding Crowd. 

By Thomas Hardy 20 

798 Fashion of this World, The. By 

Heien B. Mathers 10 

680 Fast and Loose. By Arthur 

Griffiths 20 

246 Fatal Dower, A. By the Author 

of “ His Wedded Wife” 20 

299 Fatal Lilies, The. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme 10 

548 Fatal Marriage, A, and The 
Shadow in the Corner. By 
Kiss M. E. Braddon 10 


1098 Fatal Three, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 2 Q 

1043 Faust. By Goethe 2t 

693 Felix Holt, the Radical. By 

George Eliot 20 

542 Feuton’s Quest. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

993 Fighting the Air. By Florence 

Marry at 20 

7 File No. 113. Emile Gaboriau 20 

575 Finger of Fate, The. By Cap- 
tain Mayne Reid 20 

95 Fire Brigade, The. By R. M, 

Ballantyne 10 

674 First Person Singular. By Da- 
vid Christie Murray 20 

199 Fisher Village, The. By Anne 

Beale 10 

579 Flower of Doom, The, and 
Other Stories. By M. Betliam- 

Ed wards 10 

1129 Flying Dutchman, The ; or. The 
Death Ship. By W. Clark Rus- 
sell 20 

156 “ For a Dream's Sake.” By 

Mrs. Herbert Martin 20 

745 For Another’s Sin; or, A 
Struggle for Love. By Char- 
lotte M Braeme 20 

1151 For Faith and Freedom. By 
Walter Besant. 20 

VvA, 

197 For Her Dear Sake. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

150 For Himself Alone. By T. W. 

Speight 10 

278 For Life and Love. By Alison 10 
608 For Lilias. By Rosa Nouchette 

Carey. 1st half 20 

608 For Lilias. By Rosa Nouchette 

Carey. 2d half 20 

712 For Maimie’s Sake. By Grant 

Allen 20 

586 “ For Percival.” By Margaret 
Veley 20 

173 Foreigners, The. By Eleanor C. 

Price 20 

997 Forging the Fetters, and The 
Australian Aunt. By Mrs. 

Alexander 20 

171 Fortune’s Wheel. By “ The 

Duchess” •. 10 

468 Fortunes. Good and Bad. of a 
Sewing-Girl, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Stanley 10 

216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade 20 
438 Found Out. By Helen B. 

Mathers 10 

333 Frank Fairlegh; or, Scenes 
From the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E Smedley 20 
805 Freres, The. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander. 1st half 20 

805 Freres, The. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander. 2d half 20 

226 Friendship. By “Ouida”.... 20 


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288 From Gloom to Sunlight; or 


From Out the Gloom. By 

Charlotte M. Braeine 10 

955 From Gloom to Sunlight; or, 
From Out the Gloom. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme. (Larue 

type edition) 20 

732 From Olympus to Hades. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

288 From Out the Gloom; or, From 
Gloom to Sunlight. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

955 Fro’o Out the Gloom; or, From 
Gloom to Sunlight. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme. (Large type 
edition) 20 


348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 
Romance. By Hawley Smart 20 


1152 From the Earth to the Moon. 

By Jules Verne. Illustrated . 20 
1044 Frozen Pirate, The. By VV. 
Clark Russell ... 20 

285 Gambler’s Wife, The 20 

971 Garrison Gossip: Gathered in 
Blanlchampton. J<>hn Strange 

Winter 20 

772 Gascoyne, the Sandal-Wood 
Trader. By R. M. Ballantyne 20 
1126 Gentleman and Courtier. 'By 

Florence Marryat 20 

549 George Caulfield’s Journey. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 10 

365 George Christy; or. The Fort- 
unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 

Pastor 20 

831 Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price. 20 

208 Ghost of Charlotte Cray, The, 
and Other Stories. By Flor- 


t/li vC l'l <VI I Cl !>••••■ •••••••• • • w 

613 Ghost’s Touch, The. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

225 Giant’s Robe, The. F. Anstey 20 
300 Gilded Sin, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ' 10 

508 Girl at the Gate, The. By 

Wilkie Collins 10 

954 Girl's Heart, A. By the author 

of “Nobody's Darling ’’ 20 

867 Girls of Feversham, The. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

•44 Girton Girl, A. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards 20 

140 Glorious Fortune, A. By Wal- 
ter Besant 10 

1092 Glorious Gallop, A. By Mrs. 

Ed w ard Keunard 20 

647 Goblin Gold. By May Crom- 

melin 10 

450 Godfrey Helstoue. By Georgi- 
ana M. Crailc 20 


972 Gold Elsie. By E. Marlitt 20 

911 Golden Bells: A Peal in Seven 
Changes. By R. E. Franeillc.vt 20 
158 Golden Calf, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

-..EVw 


306 Golden Dawn, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 


Thorne’’ 10 

656 Golden Flood, The. By R. E. 

Franeillon and Wm. Senior.. 10 
1010 Golden Gates. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 20 

172 “ Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 20 
292 Golden Heart, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

916 Golden Hope, The. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

667 Golden Lion of Granpere, The. 

By Anthony Trollope 20 

758 “ Good-bye, Sweetheart 1” By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

356 Good Hater, A. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

801 Good-Natured Man, The. By 


981 Granville de Vigue. “Ouida.” 


981 Granville de Vigne. “Ouida.” 

2d half 20 

710 Greatest Heiress in England, 

The. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

439 Great Expectations. By Chas. 

Dickens.. .. 20 

135 Great Heiress. A A Fortune in 
Seven Checks, l’y R. S. Frau- 

cillon 10 

9S0 Great Hesper, The. By Frank 

Barrett 20 

244 Great Mistake, 'A. By the au- 
thor of “ Cherry ” 20 

170 Great Treason, A. By Mary 

Hoppus. 1st half 20 

170 Great Treason, A. By Mary 

Hoppus. 2d half 20 

751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 
gators. Jules Verne. 1st half 20 
751 Great Voyages and Great Navi- 


gators. Jules Verne. 2d half 20 
138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 


By Wm. Black 20 

231 Griffith Gaunt; or, Jealousy. 

By Charles Reade 20 

677 Griselda. By the author of “ A 

Woman’s Love-Story” 20 

469 Guiding Star, A; or, Lady Da- 
rner’s Secret. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 20 

896 Guilty River, The. By Wilkie 
Collins 20 


597 Haco the Dreamer. By William 

Sime 10 

668 Half-Way. An Anglo-French 

Romance 20 

663 Handy Andy. By Samuel Lover 20 
84 Hard Times. Charles Dickens 10 
622 Harry Heathcote of Gangoil. 

By Anthony Trollope 10 

191 Harry Lorrequer. By Charles 

bever 20 


s 


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569 Harry Muir. By Mrs. Olipliant 20 
873 Harvest of Wild Oats, A. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

785 Haunted Chamber, The. By 

“ The Duchess ’’ 10 

977 Haunted Hotel, The. By Wil- 
kie Collins \ 20 

958 Haunted Life. A; or, HerTerri- 
ble Sin. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “Dora 

Tnorue” 20 

169 Haunted Man, The. By Charles 

Dickens 10 

533 Hazel Kirke. By Marie Walsh. 20 
966 He, by the author of “ King 
Solomon’s Wives” 20 

385 Headsman. The; or, The Ab- 
baye des Vignerons. By J. 

Fen i more Cooper 20 

811 Head Station, The. By Mrs. 

Campbell-Praed 20 

572 Healey. By Jessie Fothergill 20 
167 Heart and Science. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

444 Heart of Jane Warner, The. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

391 Heart of Mid-Lothian, The. By 

Sir Walter Scott 20 

695 Hearts: Queen, Knave, and 
Deuce. By David Christie 

Murray 20 

1155 Heiress of Arne, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 


741 Heiress of Hilldrop, The: or, 
The Romance of a Young 
Girl. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author ot' “ Dora Thorne ”. .. 20 
1104 Heir of Linne, The. By Rob- 


ert Buchanan 20 

823 Heir of the Ages, The. By 

James Pa.vn 20 

689 Heir Presumptive, The. By 

Florence Marryat 20 

1021 Heir to Ashley, 'The. By Mrs. 

Henry Wood 20 

513 Helen Whirney’s Wedding, and 
Other Tales. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 10 

585 Henrietta’s Wish; or. Domi- 
neering. By Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

806 Her Dearest Foe. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander. 1st half 20 

806 Her Dearest Foe. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander. 2d half 20 

ICO Her Gentle Deeds. By Sarah 
Tytler 10 

814 Heritage of Langdale, The. By 

Mrs. Alexander 20 

956 Her Johnnie. By Vhlet Whyte 20 
860 Her Lord and Master. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 20 

297 Her Marriage Vow; or, Hil- 
ary’s Folly. By Charloite M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne 10 


Her Marriage Vow; or. Hil- 
ary’s Folly. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne.” (Large type edition) 20 
Her Martyrdom. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 


Thorne ” 20 

Her Mother’sSin. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

Her Own Doing. W. E. Norris 10 
Her Own Sister. By E. S. Will- 
iamson 20 

Herr Paulus: His Rise, His 
Greatness, and His Fall. By 

Walter Besant 20 

Her Second Love. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 20 


Her Terrible Sin; or, A Haunt- 
ed Life. Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”.. . 20 
Hidden Perils. Mary Cecil Hay 20 

Hidden Sin, The. A Novel 20 

Hidden Terror, A. By Mary 


Albert 20 

Hilary's Folly; or. Her Mar- 
riage Vow. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “Dora 
r riiorne” 10 


Hilary’s Folly; or. Her Mar- 
riage Vow. By Charlotte M. 
Braeine. (Large type edition) 20 
Hilda; or,The False Vow. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 


of “ Dora d'horne ” 10 

Hilda; or, The False Vow. By 
Charlotte M. Braeine. (Large 

tvpe edition) 20 

History of a Week, The. By 

Mrs. L. B. Walford 10 

History of Henry Esmond. The. 

By William M. Thackeray. . . 20 
His Wedded Wife. By author 

of “ A Fatal Dower ” 20 

His Wife’s Judgment. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

Holy Rose, The. By Walter Be- 
sant 10 

Homeward Bound; or. The 

Chase. By J. F. Cooper 20 

Home Again. By George Mac- 
donald 20 

Home as Found. (Sequel to 
“ Homeward Bound.”) ByJ. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

Home Sounds. By E. Werner 20 
Homo Sum. By George Ebers 20 
Honorable Mrs. Vereker, The. 

B.v “The Duchess” 20 


Hopes and Fears; or. Scenes 
from the Life of a Spinster. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 1st half 20 
Hopes and Fears; or, Scenes 
from the Life of a Spinster. 
Charlotte M. Yonge. 2d half 20 
Hostages to Fortune. By Miss 
M. E. Braddon 2® 


953 

576 

19 

824 

984 

1065 

978 

958 

196 

518 

933 

297 

953 

294 

928 

658 

1G5 

461 

1006 

904 

378 

1041 

379 

1089 

1094 

1103 

800 

800 

552 


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600 Houp-Lal By John Strange 

Winter. (Illustrated) . .. 10 

703 House Divided Against Itself, 

A. By Mrs. Oiiphant 20 

248 House on the Marsh, The. By 

F. Warden 10 

351 House on the Moor, The. By 

Mrs. Oiiphant 20 

874 House Party. A. By " Ouida” 10 

481 House that Jack Built, The. 

By Alison 10 

754 How to be Hapny Though Mar- 
ried. By a Graduate in the 

University of Matrimony 20 

748 Hurrish: A Study. By the 

Hon. Emilv Law less , . 20 

198 Husband's Story, A 10 

389 Iehabod. A Portrait. By Bertha 

Thomas 10 

BOO Idalia. By “ Ouida.” 1st half 20 

996 Idalia. Bv “Ouida.” 2d half 20 

188 Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

807 If Love Be Love. By D. Cecil 

Gibbs 20 

715 I Have Lived and Loved. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

762 Impressions of Theophrastus 

Such. Bv George Eliot 10 

603 Ingledew House. By Charlotte 
31. Braeme. author of Dora 

Thorne” 10 

796 In a Grass Country. By Mrs. 

H. Lovett Cameron 20 

1009 In an Evil Hour, and Other 

Stories. By “The Duchess” 20 
304 In Cupid’s Net. By Charlotte 


M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

404 In Durance Vile, and Other 
Stories. By “The Duchess” 10 
1132 In Far Lochaber. By William 

Black 20 

32-1 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 10 

672 In Maremnm. By “ Ouida.” 1st 


672 In Maremma. By “ Ouida.” 2d 

half 20 

1143 Inner House, The. By Walter 

Besant 20 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 
Life. By Mis. Oiiphant. 1st 

half 20 

604 Innocent: A Tale of Modern 
Life. By 31 rs. Oiiphant. 2d 

half 20 

577 In Peril- and Privation. By 

James Payn 10 

638 In Quarters with the 25th (The 
Black Horse) Dragoons. By 

J. S. Winter 10 

759 In Shallow Waters. By Annie 

Arnritt 20 

39 Tn Silk Attire. By Win. Black 20 
1111 In the Counselor’s House. By 

E. Marlitt 20 

738 In the Golden Days. By Edna 
Lyall 20 


In the Middle 3Vatch. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

In the Schidingscourt. By E. . 

Marlitt 20 

In the West Couutrie. By May 

Crommelin 20 

Introduced to Society. By 

Hamilton Ai'd6 10 

lone Stewart. By Mrs. E Lynn 

Linton 20 

Irene’s Vow. By Charlotte M. 

Braeme 20 

“ I Say No or, The Love-Let- 
ter Answered. By Wilkie Col- 
lins. 20 

44 If ic "M aua** Tnrv T.nta tA 


Mend.” By Charles Reade. . . 20 
Ivauhoe. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

Jack. By Alphonse Daudet. . . 20 
Jackanapes, and Other Stories. 

By Juliana Horatia Ewing... 10 
Jack of All Trades. By Charles 


Reade 10 

Jack Tier; or. The Florida 
Reef. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
Jack’s Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 1st half 20 

Jack's Courtship. By W. Clark 

Russell. 2d hah 26 

James Gordon's Wife. A Novel 20 
Jane Eyre. Charlotte Bront6 20 
Janet’s Repentance. By 

George Eliot 10 

Jenifer. By Annie Thomas.. . 20 
Jess. By H. Rider Haggard . . 20 
Jessie. By the author of ** Ad- 

die's Husband” 20 

Jet: Her Face or Her Fortune? 

By 31rs. Annie Edwards 10 

Joan. By Rhoda Broughton. 20* 
Joan Wentworth. By Katha- 
rine S. Macquoid 20 

John. By Mrs. Oiiphant 20 

John Bull and Ilis Island. By 

Max O’Rell 10 

John Bull's Neighbor in Her 
True Light. By a “Brutal 

Saxon ” 10 

John Halifax. Gentleman. By 

3Iiss Mnlook. 1st half 20 

J hn Halifax, Gentleman. By 

Miss Mu lock. 2d half 20 

John Holdsworth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell lfl 

John Maidment. By Julian 

Sturgis 20 

John 31 archmont's Legacy. By 

Miss 31. E. Braddon 20 

Joshua Haggard's Daughter. 

By 3Iiss 31. E. Braddon 20 

Joy; or. The Light of Cold- 
Home Ford. By 3Iay Crom- 

nn-lin 20 

Judgment of God, A. By E. 

Werner 20 

Judith Shakespeare: Her Love 
Affairs and Other Advent- 
ures. By William Black — 21) 


682 

1093 

452 

383 

122 

1031 

233 

235 

28 

534 

752 

206 

41G 

743 

743 

519 

15 

728 

142 

941 

1046 

841 

707 

914 

357 

203 

289 

11 

11 

209 

694 

570 

488 

619 

1154 

265 


10 


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833 Judith Wynne. By author of 


“Lady Lovelace” 20 

.898 Julia and Her Romeo. By Da- 
vid Christie Murray 20 

80 June. By Mrs. Forrester 20 

561 Just As I Am ; or, A Living Lie. 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

1055 Katharine Regina. By Walter 

Besaut 20 

1063 Kenilworth. By Sir Walter 

Scott. 1st half 20 

1063 Kenilworth. By Sir Walter 

Scott. 2d half . 20 

883 Kidnapped. By Robert Louis 

Stevenson 20 

857 Kildee; or, Tiie Sphinx of the 
Red House. By Mary E. 

Bryan. 1st half 20 

857 Kildee; or, The Sphinx of the 
Red House. By Mary E. 

Bryan. 2d half 20 

i26 Kihrieny. By William Black. 20 
803 King Arthur. Not a Love 

Story. By Miss Mu lock 20 

753 King Solomon's Mines. By H. 

Rider Haggard 20 

970 King Solomon’s Wives; or, The 
Phantom Mines. By llyder 

Ragged. (Illustrated) 20 

435 Klytia: A Story of Heidelberg 
Castle. By Goorge Taylor. . . 20 
1147 Knight-Errant. ByEduaLyall. 

20 


1001 Lady Adelaide’s Oath; or, The 
Castle’s Heir. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood \ 20 

85 Lady Audley’s Secret. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon... 20 

733 Lady Branksmere. By “The 

Duchess ” 20 

516 Ladv Castlemaine's Divorce; 
or, Put Asunder. By Chat lotte 

M. Braeme 20 

219 Lady Clare; or. The Master of 
the Forges From the French 

of Georges Ohnet 10 

469 Lady Darner's Secret; or, A 
Guiding Star. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

931 Lady Diana’s Pride. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorn** ” 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or, The Mi- 
ser's Treasure. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

3042 Lady Grace. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 20 

805 Lady Gwendoline’s Dream. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “Dora Thorne” 10 

884 Lady Hutton's Ward. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme 10 


Lady Hutton’s Ward. By Char* 


lotte M. Braeme. (Large type 

edition) 20 

Lady Lovelace. By the author 

of “Judith Wynne” 20 

Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

Middlemas 20 

Lady of Lyons, The. Founded 
on the Play of that title by 

Lord Ly tton 10 

Lady of the Lake, The. By Sir 

Waller Scott, Bart 20 

Lady’s Mile, The. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Lady Val worth's Diamonds. 

By “ The Duchess ” 20 

Lady with the Rubies, The. By 

E. Marlitt 20 

Lancaster's Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

Lancelot Ward, M.P. George 

Temple 10 

Laud Leaguers, The. By An- 
thony Trollope 20 

Lasses of Leverhouse, The. 

By Jessie Fothergill 20 

Last Days at Apswich . 10 

Last Days of Pompeii, The. By 
SirE. Bulwer Lytton 20 


Last of the Barons, The, By Sir 
E. Bulwer Lytton. 1st half.. 20 
Last of the Barons, The. By Sir 
E. Bulwer Lytton. 2d half.. 20 
Last of the Mohicans, The. By 


J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

Late Miss Holliugford, The. 

By Rosa Mulholland 10 

Laurel Vane; or, The Girls’ 
Conspiracy. By Mrs. Alex. 

McVeigh Miller 20 

Lazarus in London. By F. W. 

Robinson 20 

Leah: A Woman of Fashion. 

By Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 


Led Astray; or, “La Petite 
Comtesse.” Octave Feuillet. 10 
Legacy of Cain, The. By Wil- 


kie Collins 20 

Legend of Montrose, A. By Sir 

Walter Scott 20 

Leila; or, The Siege of Gren- 
ada. By Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 10 
Les Mis6rables. Victor Hugo. 

Part 1 20 

Les Mis6iables. Victor Hugo. 

Part II 20 

Les Mis6rables. Victor Hugo. 

PartHI 20 

Lester’s Secret. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

Letty Leigh. By Charlotte M. 
Hraeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 20 

Lewis Arundel; or, The Rail- 
road of Life. By Frank E. 

Smedley 20 

Life and Adventures of Martin 
Chuzzlewit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. 1st half 20 


928 

503 

155 

161 

1060 

497 

875 

652 

269 

599 

32 

1099 

684 

40 

130 

130 

60 

921 

267 

455 

839 

386 

1095 

353 

164 

885 

885 

885 

408 

988 

562 

437 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY — Pocket Edition. 


il 


437 Life and Adventures of Martin 
Cliuzzlevvit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. 2d half 

774 Life and Travels of Mungo 

Park, The 

1067 Life Interest, A. By Mrs. 

Alexander 

•98 Life’s Atonement, A. By David 

Chrisrie Murray 

1070 Life’s Mistake, A. By Mrs. H. 

Lovett Cameron 

1027 Life’s Secret, A. By Mrs. Henry 

Wood 

1036 lake and Unlike. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 

617 Like Dian’s Kiss. By “ Rita ” 
807 Like no Other Love. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 

402 Lilliesleaf: or, Passages in the 
Life of Mrs. Margaret Mait- 
land of Suunyside. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 

697 Lionel Lincoln; or, The 
Leaguer of Boston. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. 1st half 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dick- 
ens. 2d half 

109 Little Loo. W. Clark Russell 
179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Far jeon 

1083 Little Old Man of the Batig- 
nolles, The. By Emile Ga- 

boriau : 

45 Little Pilgrim, A. By Mrs. Oli- 
phant 

272 Little Savage, The. By Captain 

Marryat 

Ill Little School-master Mark, 
The. By J. H. Shorthouse .. 
899 Little Stepson, A. By Florence 

Marryat 

878 Little Tu'penny. By S. Baring- 

Goutd 

804 Living or Dead. By Hugh Con- 
way. author of “Called Back ” 
919 Locksley Hall Sixty Years Af- 
ter, etc. Bv Alfred, Lord 

Tennyson, P.L.. D.C.L 

797 Look Before You Leap. By 

Mrs. Alexander 

1134 Lord Elesmere’s Wife. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme. 


92 Lord Lynne’s Choice. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 

749 Lord Vaneconrt’s Daughter. 

By Mabel Collins 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black- 

more. 1st half 

67 Lorna Doone. By R. D. Black- 

more. 2d half 

473 Lost Son, A. By Mary Linskill 
664 Lottery of Life, The. By John 
Brougham 


453 Lottery Ticket, The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey 20 

479 Louisa. By Katharine S. Mac- 

quoid 20 

742 Love and Life. By Charlotte 

M. Yonge 20 

273 Love and Mirage: or. The 
Waiting on an Island. By M. 

Betham-Ed wards 10 

232 Love and Money : or, A Peril- 
ous Secret. By Chas. Reade. 10 
146 Love Finds the Way, and Oth- 
er Stories. By Walter Besant 

and James Rice 10 

306 Love for a Day. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

313 Lover’s Creed, The. By Mrs. 


893 Love's Conflict. By Florence 

Marryat. 1st half 20 

893 Love’s Conflict. By Florence 

Marryat. 2d half 20 

573 Love's Harvest. B. L. Farjeon 20 

QiQ T ovp’c IliiMan Hunt he 


of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

175 Love’s Random Shot. By Wil- 
kie Collins 10 

757 Love’s Martyr. By Laurence 

Alma Tadema 10 

291 Love’s Warfare. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

73 Love’s Victory; or. Redeemed 
by Love. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 20 

118 Loys, Lord Berresford. By 

“The Duchess” 10 

582 Lucia, Hugh and Another. By 

Mrs. J. H. Needed 20 

589 Luck of the Darrells, The. By 

James Pay n 20 

901 Lucky Disappointment, A. By 

Florence Marryat 10 

370 Lucy Crofton. Mrs. Oliphant 16 
1155 Lured Away; or, The Story of 
a Wedding-Ring. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme 20 

44 Macleod of Dare. By William 

Black 20 

526 Madame De Presnel. By E. 

Frances Poynter 20 

315 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant... 20 
1127 Madam Midas. By Fergus W. 

Hume 20 

78 Madcap Violet. By Wm. Black 20 
1004 Mad Dumaresq. By Florence 

Marryat 20 

510 Mad Love, A. By the author of 

“ Lover and Lord ” 10 

1014 Mad Love, A. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

00 Madolin’s Lover. By Charlotte 
_ M. Braeme 20 


20 

10 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

10 

20 

20 

20 

20 

20 

10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

10 

20 

10 

20 

20 

10 

20 

20 

20 

10 

20 


12 THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


341 Madolin Rivers: or, The Little 
Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey 20 

S77 Magdalen Hepburn: A Story of 
the Scottish Reformation. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

494 Maiden All Forlorn, A. By 

“The Duchess” 10 

64 Maiden Fair, A. By Charles 

Gibbon 10 

121 Maid of Athens. By Justin 

McCarthy 20 

633 Maid of Sker, The. By R. D. 

Blackmore. 1st half.. 20 

633 Maid of Sker, The. By R. D. 

Blackinore. 2d half 20 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? By 
Mrs. Alexander 10 

1105 Maiwa's Revenge. By H. Ri- 
der Haggard 20 

1019 Major and Minor. By W. E. 

Norris. 1st half ,. 20 

1019 Major and Minor. By W. E. 

Norris. 2d half 20 

803 Major Frank. By A. L. G. Bos- 

boom-Toussaint 20 

702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 
lins. 1st half 20 

702 Man and Wife. By Wilkie Col- 
lins. 2d half 20 

277 Man of His Word, A. By W. 

E. Norris 10 

688 Man of Honor, A. By John 

Strange Winter. Illustrated. 10 
217 Man Sue Cared For, The. By 

F. W. Robinson 20 

871 Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

755 Margery Daw. A Novel 20 

922 Marjorie. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

451 Market Harborough. and In- 
side the Bar. By G. J. Whyte- 

Meiville 20 

773 Mark of Cain, The. By Andrew 

Lang 10 

1002 Marriage at a Venture. By 

Emile Gaboriau 20 

331 Marriage of Convenience, A. 

By Harriett Jay 10 

480 Married in Haste. Edited by 

M'iss M. E. Braddon 20 

476 Married in Haste; or, Between 
Two Sins. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme 20 

992 Marrying and Giving in Mar- 
riage. By Mrs. Molesworth.. 20 
1047 Marvel. Bv “The Duchess”.. 20 
615 Mary Anerley. By R. D. Black- 

more 20 

1058 Mas miello; or, The Fisherman 
of Naples. By Alexander Du- 
mas 20 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock. By 

Charles Dickens 10 

346 Master of the Mine, The. By 
Robert Buchanan 20 


825 Master Passion, The. By Flor- 


ence Marryat 20 

1085 Matnpau Affair, The. By F. Du 

Boisgohey. 1st half 20 

10S5 Mata pan Affair. The. By F. 

Du Boisgobey. 2d half 20 


578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 
Verne. (Illustrated.) Parti. 10 
578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 
Verne. (Illustrated.) Part II 10 
578 Mathias Sandorf. By Jules 
Verne. (IIlus! rated.) Part III 10 
398 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan. 


By Robert Buclmnan 10 

723 Mauleverer’s Millions. By T. 

Wemyss Reid 20 

330 May Blossom: or. Between 
Two Loves. By Margaret Lee 20 
791 Mayor of Casterl nidge, The. 

By Thomas Hardy 20 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 
Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
including some Chronicles of 
the Borough of Fcndie. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

771 Menial Struggle, A. By “The 

Duchess ” 20 

424 Mercedes of Castile; or. The 
Voyage to Cathay. By J. Fen- 

imore Cooper 20 

406 Merchant's Clerk, The. By 

Samuel Warren 10 

940 Merry Men, The, and Other 
Tales and Fables. By Robert 

Louis Stevenson .’ 20 

1020 Michael Strogoff; or. The Cou- 
rier of the Czar. Jules Verne 20 
31 Middlemareh. By George Eliot. 

1st half 20 

31 Middlemareh. By George Eliot. 

2d half 20 

187 Midnight Sun, The. B3* Fred- 

rika Bremer 10 

763 Midshipman, The, Marrnaduke 
Merry. M m. H. G. Kingston. 20 
729 Miguon. By Bits. Forrester.. 20 
492 Micnon: or. Booties' Baby. By 

J. S. Winter. Illustrated 10 

1032 Mignon's Husband. By John 

Strange Winter 20 

876 Mignon’s Secret. By John 

Strange Winter 10 

692 Mikado, The. and Other Comic 
Operas. Written by W. S. 
Gilbert. Composed by Arthur 

Sullivan ." 20 

390 Mildred Trevanion. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

414 Miles Wallingford. (Sequel to 
“ Afloat and Ashore.”) By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

3 INI ill on the Floss, The. By 

George Eliot 20 

929 Miller's Daughter, The; or. The 
Belle of Lynn. By ClinrloMe 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 2ft 

157 Milly's Hero. F. W. Robinson 20 
182 Millionaire, The 20 


THE SEASIDE LIBEAET— Docket Edition. 


1 $ 


205 Minister’s Wife, The. By Mrs. 

Oliphaut 30 

1051 Misadventures of John Nichol- 
son, The. By Robert Louis 

Stevenson 10 

899 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee. 20 
369 Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 
phry Ward 10 

1007 Miss Gascoigne. By Mrs. J. 

H. Riddell 20 

866 Miss Harrington’s Husband; 
or. Spiders of Society. By 
Florence 'Marryat 20 

245 Miss Tommy. By Miss Mulock 10 
815 Mistletoe Bough, The. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

618 Mistletoe Bough. The. Christ- 
mas, 1885. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

890 Mistletoe Bough, The. Christ- 
inas, 1886. Edited by Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

1038 Mistress and Maid. By Miss 

Mulock 20 

1030 Mistress of Ibichstein. By Fr. 

Henkel 20 

293 Mitchelhurst Place. By Marga- 
ret Vele.v 10 

584 Mixed Motives 10 

1091 Modern Cinderella, A. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme 10 

1016 Modern Circe, A. By “The 

Duchess ” 20 

887 Modern Telemachus, A. By 
Cnarlotte M. Yonge 20 

881 Mohawks. By Miss M. E. Brad- 
don. 1st half 20 

881 Mohawks. By Miss M. E. Brad- 
don. 2d half 20 

2 Molly Bawn. “The Duchess” 20 
159 Moment of Madness, A. By 

Florence Marryat 10 

125 Monarch of Mincing Lane, The. 

By William Black 20 

1054 Mona’s Choice. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander 20 

201 Monastery, The. By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 

119 Monica, and A Rose Distill’d. 

By “The Duchess” 10 

431 Monikins, The. ByJ. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile 
Gaboriau. Vol. 1 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Emile 

Gaboriau. Vol. II 20 

166 Moonshine and Marguerites. 

By “The Duchess”’. ...... 10 

102 Moonstone, The. By Wilkie 

Collins 20 

803 More Bitter than Death. By 

Charlotte 31. Braeme 10 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 
of a Life in the Highlands. 

By Queen Victoria 10 

116 Moths. By “Ouida” 20 

495 Mount Royal. By Miss M. E. 
Braddon 20 


501 Mr. Butler’s Ward. By F. Ma- 
bel Robinson 20 

1100 Mr. Meeson's Will. By H. Ri- 
der Haggard 20 

113 Mrs. Carr’s Companion. By M. 

G. Wightwick 10 

675 Mrs. Dymond. By Miss Thack- 


t-i cvj 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey. “ The Duchess.” 

(Large type edition) 20 

950 Mrs. Geoffrey “The Duchess” 10 
606 Mrs. Holly er. By Georgiaua M. 

Craik 20 

546 Mrs. Keith’s Crime 10 

440 Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings. By 

Charles Dickens. . . 10 

645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains. By 

Rhoda Broughton 10 

339 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. 

By Mrs. Alexander 10 

991 Mr. Midshipman Easy. By 

Captain Marryat 20 

256 Mr. Smith : A Part of His Life. 

By B. L. Walford 20 

635 Murder or Manslaughter? By 

Helen B. Mathers 10 

596 My Ducats and My Daughter. 

By the author of “The Crime 

of Christmas Day ” 20 

1145 My Fellow Laborer. By H. 

Rider Haggard 20 

848 My Friend Jim. W. E. Norris 20 
405 My Friends and I. Edited by 

Julian Sturgis 10 

726 My Hero. By Mrs. Forrester. 20 
1066 My Husband and I. By Couut 

Lyof lolstoi 10 

799 My Lady Green Sleeves. By 

Helen B. Mathers 20 

623 My Lady’s Money. By Wilkie 

Collins 10 

724 My Lord and My Lady. By 

Mrs. Forrester 20 

863 “My Own Child.” By Florence 

Marryat 20 

504 My Poor Wife. By the author 

of “ Addie's Husband ” 10 

433 My Sister Kale. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

861 My Sister the Actress. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 20 

271 Mysteries of Paris. The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Parti 30 

271 Mysteries of Paris, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue. Part II 30 

366 Mysterious Hunter, The; or. 
The Man of Death. By Capt. 

L. C. Carletou 20 

255 Mvstery, The. By Mrs. Henry 
Wood 20 

1075 Mystery of a Hansom Cab, The. 

By Fergus W. Hume 20 

662 Mystery of Allan Grale, The. 

Bv Isabella Fyvie Mayo 20 

1076 Mystery of an Omnibus, The. 

By F. Du Buisgobey ....... . . 20 

1125 M vsterv of a Turkish Bath, The 
By "Rita” 10 


14 THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


969 Mystery of Colde Fell, The; or, 
Not Proven. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “Bora 

Thorne” 20 

454 Mystery of Edwin Drood, The. 

By Clias. Dickens 20 

614 Mystery of Jessv Page, The, 
and Other Tales. By Mrs. 

Henry Wood 10 

43 Mystery of Orcival, The. By 

Emile Gaboriau 20 

985 Mystery of the Holly-Tree, 
The. By Charlotte M. Braeme, 
author of “Dora Thorne”... 20 
725 My Ten Years’ Imprisonment. 

By Silvio Pellieo 10 

612 My Wife's Nb*ce. By author 
of “ Doctor Edith Romney ”. 20 
666 My Young Alcides. By Char- 
lotte M. Yonge 20 


1011 North Versus South ; or, Tex- 
ar’s Vengeance. By Jules 

Verne. Parts I. and II 20 

812 No Saint. By Adeline Sergeant. 20 
168 No Thoroughfare. By Dickens 

and Collins 10 

215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 20 

969 N<>t Proven; or, The Mystery 
of Colde Fell. By Charlotte- 
M. Braeme 20 

765 Not Wisely, But Too Well. By 

Rhoda Broughton 20 

614 No. 99. By Arthur Griffiths.. 10 

766 No. XIII.; or. The Story of the 

Lost Vestal. Emma Marshall 10 
1077 Nun's Curse, The. By Mrs. J. 

H. Riddell 20 

640 Nuttie’s Father. By Charlotte 
M. Yonge 20 


674 Nabob, The: A Story of Paris- - 
ian Life and Manners. By Al- 
phonse Daudet 20 

1012 Nameless Sin, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne ” 20 

22? Nancy. By Rhoda Broughton 20 
509 Nell Haffenden. By Tighe Hop- 
kins 20 


936 Nellie’s Memories. By Rosa 
Nouchette Carey. 1st half... 20 
936 Nellie’s Memories. By Rosa 
Nouchette Carey. 2d half... 20 
181 New Abelard, The. By Robert 


Buchanan 10 

856 New Arabian Nights. By Rob- 
ert Louis Stevenson 20 

464 Newcomes, The. Bv William 
Makepeace Thackeray. Part 


464 Newcomes, The. By William 
Makepeace Thackeray. Part 

II 20 

52 New Magdalen, The. By Wilkie 

Collies..,. 10 

1023 Next of Kin— Wanted. By M. 

Betham- Ed wards 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. 1st half 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles 

Dickens. 2d half 2C 

909 Nine of Hearts, The. By B. L. 

Far jeon 20 

1005 99 Dir it Street. By F. W. Rob- 
inson 20 

105 Noble Wife. A. John Saunders 20 
864 “ No Intentions.” By Florence 

Marry at 2° 

565 No Medium. By Annie Thomas 10 
1119 No Name. By Wilkie Collins. 

1st half 20 

1119 No Name. By Wilkie Collins. 

2d half .• 20 

1086 Nora. By Carl Detlef 20 

290 Norm’s Love Test. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

695 North Country Maid, A. By 
Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron 20 


425 Oak-Openings, The; or. The 
Bee-Hunter. By J. Feuimore 

Cooper 20 

211 Octoroon, The. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 10 

1088 Old Age of M. Lecoq, The. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

1088 Old Age of M. Lecoq. The. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. 2d half ... 20 
183 Old Contrairy, and Other Sto- 
ries. By Florence Marryat.. 10 
10 Old Curiosity Shop, The. By 

Charles Dickens 20 

410 Old Lady Mary. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant *. 10 

858 Old Ma'm’selle’s Secret. By E. 

Marlitt 20 

72 Old Myd del ton's Money. By 

Mary Cecil Hay 20 

645 Oliver’s Bride. By Mrs. Oli- 

phaut 10 

41 Oliver Twist. By Charles 

Dickens 20 

605 Ombra. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 
ciety. By Mrs. Forrester 10 

883 Once Again. By Mrs. Forrester 20 
143 One False, Both Fair. By John 

B. Harwood 20 

342 One New Year's Eve. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

840 One Thing Needful; or. The 
penalty of Fate. By Miss M. 

E. Bi addon 20 

1049 On Going Back. By H. Rider 
Haggard 20 


985 On Hi*r Wedding Mora. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme 20 

384 On Horseback Through A-!a 
Minor. By Captain Fred Bur- 
naby 

498 Only a Clod. By Miss M. E. 
Braddon 2H 


1072 Only a Coral Girl. By Gertruda 
Forde 


1112 Only a Word. By George Eln»rs 
496 Only a Woman. Edited by Mias 
M. E. Braddon 


3 § £>£ 


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1064 Only the Governess. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 20 

655 Open Door, The. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 10 

998 Open. Sesame ! By Florence 

Marry at 20 

708 Ormond. By Maria Edgeworth '20 
12 Other People's Money. By 

Emile Gaboriau 20 

639 Othmar. By*‘Ouida.” 1st half 20 
639 Othmar. BvOuida.” 2d half 20 
859 Ottilie : An Eighteenth Century 

Idyl. By Vernon Lee 20 

838 Ought We to Visit Her? By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 20 

131 Our Mutual Friend. By Charles 

Dickens. 1st half 20 

131 Our Mut ual Friend. By Charles 

Dickens. 2d half 20 

1133 Our New Mistress; or. Changes 
at Brookfield Earl. B> Char- 
lotte M. Yonge 20 

747 Our Sensation Novel. Edited 
by Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. 10 
925 Outsider, The. Hawley Smart 20 
870 Out of His Reckoning. B} r 

Florence Marryat 10 

1130 Owl- House, The. A Posthu- 
mous Novel. B.v E. Marlitt. 
Finished by W. Heiuiburg. . . 20 

530 Pair of Blue Eyas, A. By 

Thomas Hardy 20 

587 Parson o’ Durriford, The. By 

G. Manville Fenn 20 

238 Pascarel. By “Ouida” 20 


1107 Passenger from Scotland 

Yard, The. By H. F. Wood. . 20 
822 Passion Flower, A. A Novel.. 20 
517 Passive Crime, A, and Other 
Stories. By The Duchess ” 10 
886 Paston Carew, Millionaire and 
Miser. Mrs. E. Lynn Linton 20 
309 Pathfinder, The. By J. Feui- 


more Cooper 20 

720 Paul Clifford. By Sir E. Bulwer 

L.vtton, Bart 20 

571 Paul C; i rew's Story. By Alice 

Com v ns Carr 10 

525 Paul Vargas, and Other Stor- 
ies. By Hugh Conway, au- 
thor of ’* Called Back ” 10 

994 Penniless Orphan, A. By W. 

Heim burg 20 

449 Peeress and Player. By Flor- 
ence Main at 20 

613 Percv and the Prophet. By 

Wilkie Collins 10 

776 PereGoriot. By H. De Balzac 20 
314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill. . . 20 
965 Periwinkle. By Arnold Gray. 20 
568 Perpetual Curate, The. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

133 Peter the Whaler. By William 

H. G. Kingston... - 10 

868 Petronel. By Florence Marryat 20 
892 Peveri! of th - Peak. By Sir 
Walter Scott 20 


I 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 
for Men and Women. By 

George Macdonald 10 

55 Phantom Fortune. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

845 Philip EarnsclifTe ; or, The Mor- 
als of May Fair. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards 20 

336 Philistia. By Cecil Power.... 20 
669 Philosophy of Whist, The.- By 
William Pole 20 


903 Phyllida. By Florence Marryat 20 
16 Phyllis. By ’‘The Duchess”. 20 
372 Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 
thor of “ His Wedded Wife ”, 10 
537 Piccadilly. Laurence Oliphant 10 
24 Pickwick Papers. By Charles 


Dickens. Vol. 1 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. By Charles 

Dickens. Vol. II 20 

448 Pictures From Italy, and The 
Mudt'og Papers, &c. By Chas. 
Dickens 20 

206 Picture, The. By Charles 

Reade 10 

264 Ptedouche, a French Detective. 

By Fort u it 6 Du Boisgohey... 10 
318 Pioneers, The; or. The Sources 
of the Susquehanna. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

393 Pirate, The. Sir Walter Scott 20 
850 Playwright's Daughter, A. By 

Mrs. Annie Edwards 10 

818 Pluck. By John Strange Winter 10 
869 Poison of Asps, The. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 10 

836 Point of Honor, A. By Mrs. An- 
nie Edwards 20 

1009 Polikoucbka. By Count Lyof 

Tolstoi 10 

329 Polish Jew, The. (Translated 
from the French by Caroline 
A. Merighi.) By Erckmanu- 

Chatrian 10 

831 Pomegranate Seed. By the au- 
thor of “The Two Miss Flem- 
ings.” 20 

902 Poor Gentleman, A. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

325 Portent, The. By George Mac- 
donald 10 

6 Portia. By “ The Duchess ”. . 20 
655 Portrait, The. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 
558 Povertv Corner. By G. Man- 

vilie Fenn 20 

310 Prairie, The. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

422 Precaution. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

828 Prettiest Woman in Warsaw, 

The. By Mabel Collins 20 

697 Pretty Jailer, The By F. Du 

Boisgohey. 1st half 20 

697 Pretty Jailer, The. By F. Du 
Boisgohey. 2d half 20 

207 Pretty Miss Neville. By B. M. 

Croker 2d 

475 Prima Donna’s Husband, The. 

By jp. Du Boisgohey. 20 


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T- 




681 Prime Minister, The. By An- 
thony Trollope. 1st half 20 

531 Prime Minister, The. By An- 
thony Trollope. XJti half 20 

824 Primus in Iudis. By M. J. Col- 

quhoun 10 

1137 Prince Charming 1 . By the au- 
thor of ‘‘A Great Mistake ” . . 20 
249 “Prince Charlie s Daughter;” 
or, Tht" Cost of Her Love. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme 10 

556 Prince of Darkness, A. By F. 
Warden 20 

859 Prince of the 100 Soups, The. 
Edited hy Vernon Lee 20 


704 Prince Otto. R. L. Stevenson . 10 
355 Princess Dago mar of Poland, 
The. Heinrich Felbermann. 10 
228 Princess Napraxiue. “Ouida” 20 
1136 Princess of the Moor, The. By 


E. Marlitt 20 

23 Princess of Thule, A. By Will- 
iam Black 20 

1117 Princess Sarah. By John 

Strange Winter 10 

88 Privateersman, The. By Cap- 
tain Marry at 20 

321 Prodigals, The: And Their In- 
heritance. By Mrs. Oliphant. 10 

9 !4 Professor, The. By Charlotte 

Bront6 20 

144 Promises of Marriage. By 

Emile Gaboriau 10 

260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 
947 Publicans and Sinners; or. Lu- 
cius Davoren. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon. 1st half 20 

947 Publicans and Sinners; or, Lu- 
cius Davoren. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon. 2d half 20 

1000 Puck. By “Ouida.” 1st half 20 
1000 Puck. By “Ouida” 2! half 20 
912 Pure Gold. By Mrs. H. Lo ett 
Cameron. 20 


516 Put Asunder; or. Lady Castle- 
mai ne’s Divorce. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

487 Put to the Tost. Edited by 

Miss M. E Braddon 20 

214 Put Yourself in His Place. By 
Charles Reade 20 

68 Queen Amongst Women, A. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme 10 

932 Queenie’s Whim. ByRosaNou- 

chette Carey. 1st half 20 

932 Quecnie's Whim. ByRosaNou- 

ctiette Carey. 2d half 20 

591 Queen of Hearts, The. By Wil- 
kie Collins 20 

1061 Queer Race, A: The Story of 
a strange People. By William 
Westall 20 


641 Rabbi’s Spell, The. By Stuart 

C. Cumberland 10 

147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trol- 
lope 20 

661 Rainbow Gold. By David Chris- 
tie Murray 20 

433 Rainy June. A. By “Ouida”. 10 
700 Ralph the Heir. By Authony 

Trollope. 1st half 20 

700 Ralph the Heir. By Anthony 

Trollope. 2d half 20 

815 Ralph W iltou’s Weird. By Mrs. 

Alexander 10 

442 Rautliorpe. By George Henry 

Letyes 20 

780 Rare Pale Margaret. By the au- 
thor of ‘ What’s His Offence?” 20 
279 Rat tlin. the Reefer. By Captain 

Marry at 20 

327 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 
the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina Tyrrell 20 

210 Readiana: Comments on Cur- 
rent Events. By Chas. Reade 10 
1138 Recoiling Vengeance, A. By 

Frank Barrett 20 

768 Red as a Rose is She. By Rlioda 

Broughton 20 

918 Red Band, The. By F. Du Bois- 

gobey. 1st half 20 

918 Bed Band, The. By F. Du Bois- 

gobey. 2d half 20 

381 Red Cardinal, The. By Frances 

Elliot 10 

1021 R> d-Court Farm, The. By Mrs. 

Henry W’ood 20 

73 Redeemed by Love; or. Love’s 
Victory. By Charlotte M. 

Braeme 20 

89 Red Eric, The. By R. M. Ballan- 

tyne 10 

463 Redgauntlet. By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 

580 Red Route, The. By William 

Si me 20 

361 Red Rover. The. A Tale of the 
Sea. By J. Fenitnore Cooper 20 


421 Redskins. The ; or, Indian and 
Jnjin. Being the conclusion 
of the Littlepage Manuscripts. 

By J. Fen i more Cooper 20 

427 Remarkable History of Sir 
Thomas Upmore, Bart., M.P., 
The. Formerly known as 
“Tommy Upmore.” By R. 

D. Blue km ore 20 


237 Repented at Leisure. By Char- 


lotte M Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne.” (Large type 

edition) 20 

967 Repented at Leisure. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

1146 Rlioda Fleming. By George 
Meredith. 20 


740 Rhona. By Mrs. Forrester. ... 20 


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1 ? 


375 Ride to Khiva, A. By Captain 
Fied Burnaby, of the Royal 

Horse Guards 20 

1144 Rienzi. By Sir E. Bulwer Lyt- 
ton. 20 

1116 Robert Elsmere. By Mrs. 

Humphry Ward. 1st half 20 

1116 Robert Elsmere. By Mrs. 

Humphry Ward. 2d half 20 

396 Robert Old's Atonement. By 

Rosa Nouchette Carey 20 

976 Robur the Conqueror; or, A 
Trip Round the World in a 
Flying Machine. By Jules 
Verne 20 

1141 Rogue. The. By W. E. Norris. 

1st half 20 

1141 Rogu The. By W. E. Norris. 

2d half 20 

816 Rogues and Vagabonds. By 
George R. Sims, author of 

“ ’Ostler Joe ” 20 

190 Komanceof a Black Veil. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 
ot “Dora Thorne” 10 

741 Romance of a Young Girl, The; 

<>r, The Heiress of Hdldrop. 

By Charlotte M. Braeme 20 

66 Romance of a Poor Young Man, 

The. By Octave Feuillet 10 

139 Romantic Adventures of a 
Milkmaid, The. By Thomas 

Hardy 10 

898 Romeo and Juliet: A Tale of 
Two Young Fools. By Will- 
iam Black. 20 

42 Romola. By George Eliot 20 

360 Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Fran- 

ciilon 20 

664 Rory 07.1c re. Samuel Lover 20 
193 Rosery Folk, The. By G. Man- 

ville Fenn 10 

670 Rose and the Ring, The. By 
W. M. Thackeray. Illustrated 10 
119 Rose Distill’d, A. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

103 Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell 10 

296 Rose in Thorns. A. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 10 

129 Rossmoyne. By “The Duchess” 10 
180 Round the Galley Fire. By W. 

Clark Russell 10 

R53 Round the Moon. By Jules 
Verne. Illustrated 20 

566 Royal Highlanders, The; or, 
The Black Watch in Egypt. 

By James Grant 20 

736 R >y and Viola. Mrs. Forrester 20 
409 Roy’s Wife. By G. J. Whyte- 

Melvilln 20 

489 Rupert Godwin. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 20 

457 Russians at (he Gates of Herat. 
The. By Charles Marvin. ... 10 


Sabina Zembra. By William 

Black. 1st half 20 

Sabina Zembra. By William 

Black. 2d half 20 

Sacred Nugget, The. By B. L. 

Farjeon 20 

Saint Michael. By E. Werner. 

1st half 20 

Saint Michael. By E. Werner. 

2d half 20 

Sailor’s Sweetheart, A. By W. 

Clark Russell 20 

Salem Chapel. Mrs. Oliphant 20 
Sam’s Sweetheart. By Helen 

B. Mathers 20 

Satanstoe; or. The Littlepage 
Manuscripts. By J. Feuimore 

Cooper 20 

Scheherazade: A London 
Night's Enteriainment. By 

Florence Warden 20 

Scottish Chiefs, The. By Miss 

Jane Porter. 1st half 20 

Scottish Chiefs, The. By Miss 

Jane Porter. 2d half 20 

Sculptor’s Daughter, The. By 
F. Du Boisgobey. 1st hali ... 20 
Sculptor’s Daughter. The. By 
F. Du Boisgobey. 2d half — 20 
Sea Change, A. By Flora L. 

Shaw 20 

Sealed Lips. F. Du Boisgobey 20 
Sea Lions, The; or. The Lost 
Sealers. By J. F. Cooper... 20 
Sea Queen, A. By W. Clark 

Russell 20 

Sebastopol. By Count Lyof 

To 1st i 20 

Second Life, A. By Mrs. Alex- 
ander 20 

Second Thoughts. By Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

Second Wife, The. By E. Mar- 

litt 20 

Secret Dispatch, The. By 

James Grant 10 

Secret of Her Life, The. By Ed- 


vvai u 

Secret of the Cliffs, The. By 

Charlotte French 20 

Self Doomed. Bv B. L. Far jeon 10 
“ Self or Bearer.” By Walter 

Besant 10 

Serapis. By George Ebers 20 

Set in Diamonds. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne”.. 20 

Severed Hand. The. By F. Du 

Boisgobey. 1st half 20 

Severed Hand, The. By F. Du 
Boisgobej'. 2d half 20 

Shadow in the Corner, The. By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 10 

Shadow of a Cl ime, The. By 

Hall Caine 20 

Shadow of a Sin. The. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” ■ id 


962 

962 

616 

1067 

1067 

223 

177 

795 

420 

1037 

660 

660 

699 

699 

441 

82 

423 

85 

1108 

490 

101 

999 

781 

810 

387 

607 

651 

474 

792 

10 c 2 

1082 

548 

445 

293 


18 


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948 Shadow of a Sin, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Brae me. (Large type 

edition) 20 

IB Sliandon Bells. By Win. Black 20 
988 Shattered Idol, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“Dora Thorne” 20 

910 She: A History of Adventure. 

By H. Rider Haggard 20 

141 She Loved Him! By Annie 
Thomas 10 

520 She's All the World to Me. By 

Hall Caine 10 

801 She Stoops to Conquer. By 

Oliver Goldsmith 10 

57 Shirley. By Charlotte Bront6 20 
966 Siege Baby, A. By John 

Strange Winter 20 

230 Signa. By “Ouida” 20 

1052 Simla's Sweetheart. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

707 Silas Maruer: The Weaver of 
Raveloe. By George Eliot. . . 10 
1034 Silence of Dean Maitland, The. 

By Maxwell Gray 20 

913 Silent Shore. The. By John 

Blomulelle Burton 20 

1110 Silverado Squatters, The. By 

R. L. Stevenson 10 

539 Silvermead. By Jean Middle- 

mas 20 

681 Singer’s Story, A. By May 

Laffan 10 

252 Sinless Secret, A. By “ Rita ” 10 

283 Sin of a Lifetime, The. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

515 Sir Jasper’s Tenant. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

1114 Sisters. The. By George Ebers 20 
643 Sketch-book of Geoffrey Cray- 
on, Gent, The. By Washing- 
ton Irving 20 

456 Sketches by Boz. Illustrative 
of Every-day Life and Every- 
day People. By Charles Dick- 
ens .' 20 

1078 Slaves of Paris, The.— Black- 
mail. By Emile Gaboriau. 1st 

half 20 

1078 Slaves * of Paris. The. — The 
Champdoce Secret. By Emile 

Gaboriau. 2d half 20 

601 Slings and Arrows, and other 
Stories. By Hugh Conway, 
author of “Called Back”... 10 
491 Society in London. By a For- 
eign Resident 10 

505 Society of London, The. By 

Count Paul Vasili 10 

778 Society’s Verdict. By the au- 
thor of “ My Marriage ” 20 

114 Some of Our Girls. By Mrs. C. 

J. Eiloart 20 

412 Some One Else. B. M. Croker 20 
194 “So N ear. and Yet So Far!” 

By Alison 10 


Son of His Father, The. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

Southern Star, The: or, The 
Diamond Laud. Jules Verne 20 
Springhaven. By R. D. Black- 

more. 1st half 20 

Springhaven By R. D. Black- 

more. 2d half 20 

Spy, The. J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
Squire’s Darling. The. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

Squire’s Legacy, The. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 20 

Stabbed in the Dark. By Mrs. 

E. Lynn Linton 10 

Star and a Heart, A. By Flor- 
ence Marry at 10 

Starling, The. By Norman 

Macleod, D.D 10 

Stella. By Fanny Lewald 20 

Stern Chase, A. By Mrs. 

Cashel-Hoey 20 

Steven Lawrence. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards. 1st half 20 

Steven Lawrence. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards. 2d half 20 

“ Storm-Beaten :” God and The 
Man. By Robert Buchanan. 20 
Stormy Waters. By Robert 

Buchanan 20 

Story of an African Farm, The. 

By Ralph Iron (Olive Schrei- 
ner.) 20 

Story of a Sin. By Helen B. 

Mathers 20 

Story of Dorothy Grape, The, 
and Other Tales. By Mrs. 

Henry Wood 10 

Story of Ida, The. By Fran- 
cesca 10 

Strange Adventures of a 
House - Boat, The. B3’ Will- 
iam Black 20 

Strange Adventures of a Phae- 
ton. The. By William Black. 20 
Strange Adventures of Captain 
Dangerous, The. By George 

Augustus Sala 20 

Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and 
Mr. Hyde. By Robert Louis 

Stevenson 10 

Strangers and Pilgrims. By 

Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

Strange Story, A. By Sir E. 

Bulwer Lytton 20 

Strange Voyage, A. By W. 

Clark Russell.. 20 

Strange World, A. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

Strathmore: or. Wrought by 
His Own Hand. By “ Ouida.” 

1st half 20 

Strathmore; or, Wrought by 
His Own Hand. By “ Ouida.” 

2d half 20 

St. Ronan's Well. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 20 


880 

368 

926 

926 

63 

793 

281 

817 

895 

158 

436 

802 

846 

846 

145 

1074 

1120 

673 

610 

53 

1096 

50 

756 

686 

524 

83 

502 

511 

974 

974 

418 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY — Pocket Edition. 19 


550 Struck Down. Hawley Smart 10 
467 Struggle for a Ring, A. Char- 
lotte M. Braeme 20 

71 Struggle for Fame, A. By Mrs. 

J. H. Riddell 20 

745 Struggle for Love, A; or, For 
Another’s Sin. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 20 

964 Struggle for the Right, A; or, 
Tracking the Truth 20 

222 Sun-Maid, The. By Miss Grant 20 
21 Sunrise: A Story of These 

Times. By Win. Black 20 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 
ana’s Discipline. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

363 Surgeon’s Daughter, The. By 

Sir Walter Scott. 10 

277 Surgeon’s Daughters, The. By 

Mrs. Henry Wood 10 

844 Susan Fielding. By Mrs. Annie 

Edwards .', 20 

927 Sweet Cymbeline. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

123 Sweet is True Love. By “ The 

Duchess ” 10 

316 Sworn to Silence; or. Aline 
Rodney’s Secret. By Mrs. 
Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 


659 Taken at the Flood. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

117 Tale of the Shore and Ocean, 

A. By Wm. H. G. Kingston . . 20 
1049 Tale of Three Lions, A. By H. 

Rider Haggard 20 

77 Tale of Two Cities, A. By 

Charles Dickens 20 

343 Talk of the Town, The. By 

James Payn 20 

1142 Ten Thousand a Year. By 

Samuel Warren. Part 1 20 

1142 Ten Thousand a Year. By 

Samuel Warren. Part II 20 

1142 Ten Thousand a Year. By 

Samuel Warren. Part III 20 

213 Terrible Temptation, A. By 

Clias. Reade 20 

1011 Texar’s Vengeance; or. North 
Versus South. By Jules Verne. 

Part 1 20 

1011 Texar’s Vengeance; or, North 
Versus South. By Jules Verne. 

Part II 20 

696 Thaddeus of Warsaw. By Miss 

Jane Porter 20 

995 That Beautiful Lady. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch. By 

William Black 20 

136 “That Last Rehearsal,” and 
Other Stories. By “The 
Duchess” 10 


915 That Other Person. By Mrs. 

Alfred Hunt. 1st half 20 

915 Tltat Other Person. By Mrs. 

Alfred Hunt. 2d half 20 

355 That Terrible Man. By W. E. 

Norris 10 

892 That Winter Night; or, Love's 
Victory. Robert Buchanan. . 10 
1131 Thelma. By Marie Corelli. 

1st half 20 

1131 Thelma. By Marie Corelli. 2d 

half 20 

48 Thicker than Water. By 

James Payn 20 

184 Thirlby Hall. By W. E. Norris 20 
1045 13th Hussars, The. By Emile 

Gaboriau 20 

1008 Thorn in Her Heart, A. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

148 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 

By Charlotte M. Braeme, au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

1015 Thousand Francs Reward, A. 

By Emile Gab"riau 20 

275 Three Brides, The. By Char- 
lotte M. Yonge 10 

775 Three Clerks.The. By Anthony 

Trollope 20 

124 Three Feathers. By Wm. Black 20 
55 Three Guardsmen, The. By 
Alexander Dumas 20 


382 Three Sisters; or. Sketches of 
a Highly Original Family. 

By Elsa D'Esterre-Keeling. . . 10 
1109 Through the Long Nights By 

Mrs. E. Lynn Linton. 1st half 20 
1109 Through the Long Nights. By 
Mrs. E. Lynn Liuton. 2d haif 20 
789 Through the Looking-Glass, 
and What Alice Found There. 

By Lewis Carroll. With fifty 
illustrations by JohnTenniel. 20 
471 Thrown on the World. By Char- 


lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

833 Ticket No. “9672.” By Jules 

Verne. 1st half 10 

833 Ticket No. “ 9672.” By Jules 

Verne. 2d half 10 

367 Tie and xriolr. Hawlev Smart 20 
485 Tinted Vapours. J. Maclaren 

Cobban 10 

503 Tinted Venus, The. F. Anstey. 10 
980 To Call Her Mine. By Walter 

Besant 20 

1139 Tom Brown at Oxford. By 

Thomas Hughes. Vol. 1 20 


1139 Tom Brown at Oxford. By 

Thomas Hughes. Vol. II 20 

120 Tom Browm’s School Days at 
Rugby. By Thomas Hughes. 20 
243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” By 

Charles Lever. 1st half 20 

243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” By 
Charles Lever. 2d half... .,20 
1081 Too Curious. By Edward J. 
Goodman 20 


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567 To the Bitter End. By Miss M. 

E. Braddon 20 

879 Touchstone of Peril, The. By 

R. E. Forrest 20 

1050 Tour of the World in 80 Days, 

The. By Jules Verne 20 

888 Treasure Island. Robert Louis 

Stevenson 10 

1017 Ti icotrin. The Story of a Waif 
and Stray. By “ Ouida.” 1st 
half 20 

1017 Trieotrin. The Story of-a Waif 

and Stray. By “Ouida.” 2d 

half 20 

858 True Magdalen, A. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

945 Trumpet-Major, The. Thomas 

Hardy 20 

346 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

Muir 10 

100 20.000 Leagues Under the Seas. 

By Jules Verne 20 

75 Twenty Years After. By Alex- 
ander Dumas 20 

714 ’Twixt Love and Duty. By 

Tighe Hopkins 20 

924 Twixt Smile and Tear. Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

349 Two Admirals, The. A Tale of 
the Sea. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

1073 Two Generations. By Count 

Ly of Tolstoi 10 

307 Two Kisses. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 

1018 Two Marriages. By Mis's Mul- 

ock 20 

784 Two Miss Flemings, The. By 
the author of “ What's His Of- 
fence?” 20 

242 Two Orphans, The. By D’En- 

nery 1C 

563 Two Sides of the Shield, The. 

By Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. 

By R. H. Dana, jr 20 

407 Tyiney Hall. By Thomas Hood 20 

983 Uarda. By George Ebers 20 

862 Ugly Barrington. By “ The 

Duchess.” 10 

137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10 
541 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10 
930 Uncle Max. By RosaNouchette 

Carey. 1st half 20 

930 Uncle Max. B.v RosaNouchette 

Carey. 2d half 20 

152 Uncommercial Traveler, The. 

By Charles Dickens 20 

174 Under a Ban. By Mrs. Lodge 20 
1123 Under - Currents. By “The 

Duchess.” 20 

460 Under a Shadow. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“Dora Thorne” 20 


852 Under Five Lakes; or, The 
Cruise of the “ Destroyer.” 

By M. Quad 20 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses. 

By Florence Marryat (Mrs. 

Francis Lean) 10 

110 Under the Red Flag. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 10 

1024 Under the Storm; or, Stead- 


4 Under Two Flags. By “Ouida” 20 
340 Under Which King? By Comp- 
ton Reade 20 

718 Unfairly Won. By Mrs. Power 

O’Donoghue 20 

634 Unforeseen, The. By Alice 

O'Hanlon 20 

508 Unholy Wish, The. By Mrs. 

Henry Wood 10 

735 Until the Day Breaks. By 

Emily Spender 20 

654 “Us.” An Old-fashioned Story. 

By Mrs. Moles worth 10 

837 Vagabond Heroine, A. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards 10 

482 Vagrant Wife, A. F. Warden 20 

691 Valentine Strange. By David 

Christie Murray 20 

189 Valerie’s Fate. By Mrs. Alex- 


27 Vanity Fair. By William M. 

Thackeray. 1st half 20 

27 Vanity Fair. By William M. 

Thackeray. 2d half 20 

1068 Vendetta! or. The Story of 
One Forgotten. By Marie 

Corelli 20 

426 Venus's Doves. By Ida Ash- 
worth Taylor 20 

891 Vera Neviil; or, Poor Wisdom’s 
Chance. By Mrs. H. Lovett 

Cameron 20 

46 Very Hard Cash. By Charles 

Reade 20 

59 Vice Versa. By F. Anstey... 20 
716 Victor and Vanquished. By 

Mary Ce<-il Hay 20 

58$ Victory Deane. Cecil Griffith 20 
545 Vida s Story. B.v author of 

“Guilty Without. Crime” 10 

734 Viva. Br Mrs. Forrester 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the Rr. Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of 

Beaconsfleld. 1st half 20 

793 Vivian Grey. By the Rt. Hon. 
Benjamin Disraeli. Earl of 

Beaconsfleld. 21 half 20 

835 Vivian the Beauty. By Mrs. 

Annie Edwards 20 

283 Vivien’s Atonement; or. The 
Kin of a Lifetime. Bv Char- 
lotte M. Braeine, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

204 Vixen. By Miss M E. Braddon 20 


777 Voyages and Travels of Sir 
John Maundeville, Kt., The.. 10 


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884 Voyage to the Cape, A. By W. 
Clark Russell 20 

659 Waif of the “Cynthia,” The.- 

By Jules Verne 20 

9 Wanda. Countess von Szalras. 

By “ Ouitla ” 20 

270 Wandering Jew, The. By Eu- 
gene Sue!! Part 1 30 

270 Wandering Jew. The. By Eu- 
gene Sue^ Part 11 30 

621 Warden, The. By Anthony 

Trollope 10 

266 Water- Babies, The. A Fairy 
Tale for a Land-Baby. By the 

Rev. Charles Kingsley. .’ 10 

512 Waters of Hercules, The 20 

112 Waters of Marah, The. By 

John Hill 20 

859 Water-Witch. The. By J. Feni- 

tnore Cooper 20 

401 Waverlev. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

195 “ Way of the World, The.” By 

David Christie Murray 20 

415 Ways of the Hour, The. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

344 “ Wearing of the Green, The.” 

By Basil 20 

943 Weavers and Weft; or. “ Love 
That Hath Us in His Net.” 

By Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

961 Wee Wifie. By Rosa N Carey 2u 

312 Week in Killaruey, A. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

458 Week of Passion, A ; or, The 
Dilemma of Mr. George Bar- 
ton the Younger. By Edward 

Jenkins 20 

79 Wedded and Parted. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 

“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

688 Wedded Hands. Bv the author 

of “ My Lady’s Foll v ” 20 

400 Wept of Wish-Ton- Wish, The. 

By J Fenimore Cooper 20 

637 What’s His Offence? By author 
of “The Two Miss Flemings” 20 
722 What’s Mine’s Mine. George 

Macdonald 20 

679 Where Two Ways Meet. By 

Sarah Doudney 10 

Which Loved Him Best? By 

Charlotte M. Braeme 10 

236 Which SI mil It Be? By Mrs. 

Alexander 20 

627 White Heather. ByWtn. Black 20 
70 White Wings: A Yachting Ro- 
mance. By William Black .. 10 
335 White Witch. The. A Novel.. 20 
939 Why Not? Florence Marryat. 20 
849 Wicked Girl, A. Bv Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

88 Widow Lerouge, The. By Emile 

Gahoriau 20 

76 Wife in Name Only; or, A Bro- 
ken Heart. By Charlotte M. 
Braeme, author of “Dora 
Thorne ” 20 


254 Wife’s Secret, The, and Fair 
hut False. By Charlotte M. 
Brae ne, author of “Dora 

Thorne ” 10 

823 Willful Maid, A. By Charlotte 
M. Braeme, author of “Dora 
Thorne” 20 

908 Willful Young Woman. A 20 

761 Will Weatherhelm. By Wm. 

H. G. Kingston 20 

373 Wing-ami- Wing. By J. Feni- 
more Cooper 20 

1C3 Winifred Power.- By Joyce Dar- 
rell 20 

472 Wise Women of Inverness, 

The. By Wm. Black 10 

134 Witching Hour. The. and Other 
Stories. Bv “ The Duchess ”. 10 
432 Witch's Head, The. By H. 
Rider Haggard 20 

872 With Cupid’s Eyes. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 20 

20 Within an Inch of His Life. 

By Emile Gahoriau 20 

358 Within the Ckisp. By J. Ber- 
wick Harwood 20 

809 Witness My Hand. By the au- 
thor of “Lady Gwendolen's 

Tryst ” 10 

957 W< odlanders. The. By Thomas 

Hardy 20 

98 Womau-Hater, A. By Charles 

lteade 20 

705 Woman I Loved, The, and the 
Woman Who Loved Me. By 
Isa Blagden 10 


701 Woman in White. The. Wilkie 
Collins. Illustrated. 1st half 20 
701 Woman in White. The. Wilkie 
Collins. Illustrated. 2d half 20 
854 Woman’s Error, A. By Char- 
lotte M Braeme, author of 


“ Dora Thorne ” 20 

1087 Woman's Face, A. By F. War- 
den 20 

322 Woman’s Love-Story, A. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of *• Dora Thorne ” 10 

459 Woman's Temptation, A. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme. (Large 
type edit ion) 20 

951 Woman’s Temptation, A. By 

Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of ** Dora Thorne ” 10 

295 Woman’s War, A. By Char- 
lotte M. Braeme, author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

952 Woman's War, A. By Charlotte 

M. Braeme. (Large t.> pe edi- 
tion) 20 

900 Woman’s Wit, By. By Mrs. Al- 
exander 20 

934 Wooed and Married. By Rosa 
Nouchette Carey. 1st half... 20 


934 Wooed and Married. By Rosa 
Nouchette Carey. 2d half. ... 20 


22 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY— Pocket Edition. 


17 Wooing: O't, The. By Mrs. Al- 


exander 20 

881 World Between Them, The. By 
Charlotte M. Braeme, author 

of ‘‘Dora Thorne.” 20 

906 World Went Very Well Then, 

The. By Walter Besant 20 

963 Worth Winning:. By Mrs. H. 

Lovett Cameron 20 

1048 Wreck of the “ Grosvenor,” 

The. By W. Clark Russell. .. 20 
865 Written in Fire. By Florence 

Marryat 20 

380 Wyandotte; or. The Hutted 
Knoll. BvJ. Fenimore Cooper 20 
4S4 W y 1 lard s Weird. By Miss M. 

L. Braddon 20 


1 Yolande. By William Black. 20 
1102 Young Mr. Barter s Repent- 


ance. By David Christie Mur- 
ray 10 

1053 Young Mrs. Jardine. By Miss 

Mulock 20 

709 Zenobia; or. The Fall of Pal- 
myra. By William Ware. 

1st half 20 

709 Zenobia; or. The Fall of Pal- 
myra. By William Ware. 

2d half 20 

428 Z6ro: A Story of Monte-Carlo. 

By Mrs. Campbell-Praed 10 

522 Zig-Zag, the Clown; or. The 
Steel Gauntlets. By F. Du 
Boisgobey. 20 


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A handsome catalogue containing complete and classified 
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any address on receipt of 10 cents. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-Pocltet Edition 

Always Unchanged an«l Unabridged. 

WITH HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED PAPER COVER. 

LATEST ISSUES: 


HO. prick. 

669 Pole on Whist 20 

432 TIIIC WITCH'S I1EA1). By 

H. Rider Haggard 20 

1185 A Fiery Ordeal. By Charlotte 

M. Braeine 20 

1186 Guelda. A Novel 20 

1187 Suzanne. By the author of “A 

Great Mistake” 20 

1188 My Heart’s Darling. By W. 

Heimburg 20 

1189 A Crooked Path. By Mrs. Al- 

exander. 20 


1190 CLEOPATRA: Beingan Ac- 
count of the Fall and Venge- 
ance of Harmaehis, the Royal 
Egyptian, as set forth by His 
Own Hand. By H. Rider 


Haggard 20 

1191 On Circumstantial Evidence. 

By Florence Marry at 20 

1192 Miss Kate; or, Confessions of 

a Caretaker. By “Rita” 20 

1193 The Fog Princes. A Romance 

of the Dark Metropolis. By 
Florence Warden 20 

1194 The Search for Basil Lynd- 

hurst. By Rosa Nouchette 
Carey 30 

1195 Dumaresq’s Temptation. By 

Charlotte M. Braeine 20 

1197 The Autobiography of a Slan- 

der, by Edna Lyall: and 
“ Jerry.” — That Night in 
June.”— A Wrong Turning.— 
Irish Love and Marriage. By 
the “Duchess.” 10 

1198 Gred of Nuremberg. A Ro- 

mance of the 15th Century. 

Bv George Ebers 20 

1199 A False Scent. By Mrs. Alex- 

ander 10 

1200 Beechcroft at Rockstone. By 

Charlotte M. Yonge 20 

1201 Mehalah. A Story of the Salt 

Marshes. By S. Baring-Gould. 20 

1202 Harvest. By John Strange 

Winter . , . 20 

1203 Miss Shafto. By W. E. Norris. 20 

1204 The Lodge by the Sea. By 

Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron 20 


NO. PRICK. 

1205 A Lost Wife. By Mrs. H. Lov- 

ett Cameron 20 

1206 Derrick Vaughan — Novelist. 

By Edna Lyall 10 

1207 The Princess and the Jew. By 

1. I. Kraszewski 20 

1208 Merle’s Crusade. By Rosa Nou- 

chette Carey 20 

1209 A Troublesome Girl. By “The 

Duchess” 20 

1210 Marooned. By W. Clark Russell 20 

1211 The Day Will Come. By Miss 

M. E. Braddon 20 

1212 The History of a Slave. By H. 

H. Johnston, F. R. G. S., F. 

Z. S., etc 20 

1213 Jenny Harlowe. By W. Clark 

Russell 10 

1214 Wild Darrie. By David Chris- 

tie Murray and H. Herman... 20 

1215 Adrian Lyle. By “Rita” 20 


1216 The Story of a Clergyman's 

Daughter; or. Reminiscences 
from the Life of my old 
Friend. By W. Heimburg. .. 20 

1217 Uncle Piper of Piper's Hill. 

An Australian Novel. By 


Tasma 20 

1218 Masterman Ready; or. The 

Wreck of the “Pacific.” By 
Captain Marry at 20 

1219 That Other Woman. By Annie 

Thomas 20 

1220 Mistress Beatrice Cope; or, 

Passages in the Life of a 
Jacobite's Daughter. By M. 

E. LeClerc 20 

1221 “The Tents of Shem.” By 

Grant Allen 20 

1222 Jacques Borihomme.— J o li n 

Bull on the Continent.— From 
mv LetUr Box. By Max 
O’Rell 20 

1223 A Little Fool. By John Strange 

Winter 10 

1224 The Curse of Game’s Hold. 

A Tale of Adventure. By 

G. A. Henty 20 

1228 The Master of Ballantrae. A 
Winter's Tale. By Robert 
Louis Stevenson 20 


A handsome catalogue containing complete and classified lists of all George 
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P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vamiewuier Street, N. Y. 







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